Comrade Hatred's Boxes
by The Orangest Child
Summary: When two guys are together - well, it doesn't seem to be easy, does it? Especially when they're the Monkees and their new neighbour has a surname of Hatred and brings in nothing but trouble... The final part of a trilogy 'OOMN' - 'TWBOFTLOM' - 'CHB'
1. Wednesday Morning, Comrade Arrives

**A/N: So, the waiting is over! Here's the third part of that now being trilogy - Over One Monkee's Nature – The Wall Biters… - and now 'Comrade Hatred's Boxes'. I hope not to make you wait so long again as I write on. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Epigraph:  
****  
**

...Et moi, je suis Sancho,  
Sancho, Sancho, son valet, son fils, son frère!  
Sancho, son seul amigo,  
Son seul suivant, mais pour toujours,  
Et j'en suis fier!..  
(Jacques Brel - Don Quichotte)

**Chapter 1. Wednesday morning. Comrade Arrives.**

…- Waiter!

A skinny young man was immediately by their table, smiling friendly. He must've had flying shoes or something.

- Bring our bill, please.

He nodded and disappeared. Davy looked at the guys at the table – and couldn't help but smirk playfully. _Come on, bores!_ He took his foot slowly and carefully out of the boot and reached out to touch the boot right opposite him, so smooth and cool. He stroked it with his toes, not letting himself giggle and knowing that his touch couldn't be felt – yet. The table was small, he didn't have to stretch his leg out too far, so he moved his foot comfortably up a bit to slide along the jeans and touch the leg of the man opposite him.

Mike raised his head immediately and looked at him in surprise. Davy's smile grew wider and he winked at Mike before hiding his chuckle childishly behind his hand. The next moment Mike's foot rubbed against Davy's own – it was so funny, sock against sock! – and, as Davy raised his laughing face, Mike winked at him. The little flames sparkled in his eyes – and he quickly pushed Davy's foot away and concentrated on his plate. His ears were burning. He left the plate and started examining the tea leaves in his cup as if they were something especially interesting. Davy bit his lower lip and held the chuckle inside.

_Oh Mike!_

* * *

He still couldn't get used to it all.

That was the fourth week they'd spent sharing a bed, meeting the mornings together and dreaming to the stars together, going out together and kidding around indoors together, making their music together, kissing and sharing their most intimate secrets – and he still seemed somehow uptight. He couldn't just go out with Davy and relax.

Maybe he was just bad at pretending – pretending they were just good friends having fun together. And how could Davy blame him, knowing his feelings?

Or maybe he just wasn't so confident.

For four weeks his moods had been utterly changeable. In the blink of an eye, he's been switching from feeling completely good and even kissing Davy in the tiny company of the group to the stone cold face and looking away every time Davy talked to him in the guys' presence. Davy was always there to calm him down – at least a little! – but Mike didn't feel completely relaxed until they were alone in the bedroom upstairs – it had become their after the story with the wall biters. He hugged the little one, they cuddled on their 'double bed' and they were one. Nothing and nobody could bother them in that private bubble. There were only Davy, Mike, their warm and sometimes silly whispers – and their touch, their bond, their contact. Their love.

And that was happiness. And Davy could forgive all those worried days for the intimate quiet evenings when they – just – felt one another, when they were simply together.

But those days of hidden caresses brought Davy – well, them both – a lot of pleasure, too. They were the funny days. There were a lot of touches – seemingly random, but so meaningful to the two of them.

They seized the moments, they found a second for each other every single time – and it always made Davy chuckle. Nobody knew that the guys right beside them were in love – and nobody did notice anything suspicious.

Mike seemed to enjoy it at the moment it happened, but he began to worry right afterwards. Sometimes when they were safely in the pad, Mike sighed with genuine grief written on his face and made long inspired speeches on how ridiculously risky Davy was and what could happen if anyone noticed anything wrong. Davy nodded, making an understanding face – 'okay-mummy-I'll-never-do-that-again'.

But he kept doing that, because the funny feeling that people _could_ notice tickled his nerves – and Davy giggled quietly: at the stupid folks who didn't see, at him and Mike, who actually risked their peaceful being for a moment of the softest feeling on the fingertips, at their happiness, overfilling and overflowing – and at the whole world that _forgave_…

* * *

- Let's go? – Peter suggested, glancing at Mike's face – he was trying desperately to seem concerned – and quickly covering his mouth with his hand.

- Wait for the bill, - Micky reminded and just burst out laughing soundlessly.

- Yeah, - Mike answered and swallowed the giggle. He seemed to finally find it funny – he always did sooner or later. Davy slowly put his head on the table, hiding his face in the arms. He knew his shoulders were shaking.

- Your bill, ge…

And the waiter stopped and stood there with his mouth opened. Micky stretched his arm out, hiding his face in his other hand. The boy put the bill into Micky's hand and disappeared. Davy raised his head and saw Mike digging into his pockets with the most ridiculous face – and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Gosh, that was embarrassing!

It always happened like that – everybody couldn't help but laugh. Davy understood the guys perfectly well, he himself couldn't resist – something in all that was ridiculously funny. In all that hidden love, in touches, in the idea that Micky and Peter _knew_ everything – there was something unbearably funny to him. The worst thing was that when they started laughing all at once, trying their best to hide it, people began looking at them like they were idiots.

He rose and smiled widely at everybody who was staring at them and left the table. People's eyes were all on him. Making a huge effort not to chuckle, Davy swallowed and put one hand on Mike's shoulder and the other – on Micky's.

- Well, so come on? – he said almost carelessly.

- Yeah, right. Let's go, - Mike answered quickly and rose. He'd already dug out what he was searching for in his pockets and paid.

Peter got up and came up to Davy and tapped his back. Micky smiled at him quickly.

Outside the sun was shining. The morning that Wednesday was beautiful – sunny but not too hot. Davy squinted as he looked up at Mike – his dark head was closer to the sun than Davy's own. He expected Mike to look down at him, as usual, and smile or wink – but instead Mike was looking straight forward – and Davy felt the dear arm around his shoulder. And only then Mike met his gaze and smiled at his little one softly. Then he put his arm around Micky – and Peter held Davy from the other side. They all headed down the street, almost carrying the little one.

- He-ey!

Mike smiled and leaned towards him.

- I just wanted to hug you and I didn't want people to get the wrong idea.

- I guess now they will probably _get_! – Davy remarked, moving his shoulders and doing his best to look kinda uneasy.

- No, really – do you mind? – and Mike winked at Davy – and how could anybody argue with him after that? Davy squeezed Mike's waist with his arm – for just a moment.

- You idiot…

- I know, - Mike said softly.

- It's just that if _I_ did something like this, some guy called Mike that I know – you must know him, he works as a teacher for naughty people in his spare time – so he would have a lot to say when we come back home, m?

Davy looked at Mike squinting, something like – 'caught you!' Mike tilted his head a little and examined Davy's face.

- Want a secret?

- What now? – Davy tried his best to look annoyed, but his smile shone through the 'irritated face' he had made. Mike leaned even more, and his nose touched Davy's ear slightly.

- I adore you, - he whispered, stroking Davy's shoulder tenderly.

- You're the worst secret keeper I've ever seen, - Davy said quietly, smiling and gazing at his stupid lover in gratitude and adoration. – Do you really think we look normal this way?

- We're not supposed to look normal, - Micky remarked from his side. – We're long-haired weirdoes, the strange group and the Monkees, to sum it all up, no?

Davy giggled.

- Whose idea was this?

- Mine.

Davy glanced at Peter's shining proud face – of course, who else's idea could it be?

- Peter…

- What?

- Nothing, - Micky dropped it, smiling mockingly to the side. – Absolutely, literally no-thing.

- No, really, what? Did I do something wrong? – Peter looked into Davy's eyes, making the face of a little hungry puppy. Davy released his shoulders for a moment – to tap his cheek.

- That was the most idiotic idea that ever came into your head, - he said kindly. – Thank you. Of all the dummies I've met you're the most adorable one

- Oh thank you, - Peter's smile lit the whole street.

- Hey, and what about me? – Mike pushed Davy with his hip.

- Without a rival, - Davy said, smiling at him playfully.

- Oh really?

Davy put his head on Mike's shoulder – just for a second, so nobody would notice.

- All right, I lose! – Micky said with a shrug.

- You'll have another chance, - Peter hurried to reassure him.

Davy and Mike smiled to each other, understanding one another without a word. Peter and Micky were like their brothers, however strange it sounded. They both were so dear… Davy looked ahead and relaxed. Only then he felt a little difference in the feel of the guys' arms around him. Peter's embrace was friendly, that was the brotherly hold they could give one another to just say: 'I'm with you'. And Mike's arm around his shoulders was like nothing else in the world. Nobody could notice it, it could be only felt. But that was enough to be well, to be happy, to be – home.

The passers looked at the four weirdoes walking down the street arms around each other strangely. But Davy didn't care, and neither did any of the guys – his best friends or his One And Only. Davy was the happiest one in the street, he could bet – well, Mike didn't count.

* * *

There was some hustle and bustle around the pad. Some people were running around carrying furniture and looking quite nervous. A few of them were unfamiliar, but most of them, much to the guys' surprise, were their neighbours! They were in a hurry, in a terrible hurry, and they didn't even say anything cross to the one who made them carry such heavy stuff. Well, in fact they didn't say anything at all. They just didn't open their mouths even to say something to one another.

And there was a man amidst all that fuss who was standing straight, aristocratically, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a black suit and a black tie lay over a bright white triangle of his shirt. A black suitcase was lying at his feet like a faithful dog. The man was watching the people running around him and from time to time he said something quietly to them.

Mike released Dave and Micky and freed himself from their arms almost angrily. Davy followed him as he headed towards the strange man, who stood there, so black, with only a white flame of a shirt burning on his chest, visible from everywhere. He didn't even turn his head to look at Mike, though Mike did his best to be noticed – he pushed past the men as he walked, he cursed loudly and when he finally reached the man, he coughed loudly. But that was all for nothing. Not a single man said a word to the one who disturbed them. And the man didn't seem to notice Mike either.

- Hello! – Mike said loudly.

That wasn't a greeting. That was a call: 'explain!' Mike obviously wanted to know what that man was doing here – there surely weren't any rooms for rent anywhere close around. And the man's suit and posture reminded them of those times when people wanted to make something out of their pad – from making it their own house to planning a parking lot in its place.

The man turned to Mike slowly – and Davy, who had followed him, saying sorry to all the guys with the furniture and likewise being ignored, saw his face.

It was strangely cold for one more moment. Then the man's asphalt-coloured eyes smiled, and his lips smiled, and his entire face smiled – seemingly his whole body smiled!

- Oh, hello, my young friends! You must be my new neighbours, ha?

Yes, he did say it that way – not that he was their new neighbour, but that they were his! As if he was the owner of everything and everywhere. Mike was surprised and annoyed to see that kindness and impudence incarnate – he looked it. But Davy was quick to pull himself together and before Mike said anything rude, he smiled at the man.

- Yes, sir, we must be… I guess.

He was a handsome middle-aged man with a slightly wrinkled face, with silvering hair at his temples. He tilted his head slightly, like a bird, and looked in Davy's eyes carefully.

- Well, don't you live over there? – he pointed towards the door to the Monkees' pad – and Davy suddenly felt uneasy. The man said it as if he really _was_ about to occupy their pad. He glanced at Mike and saw that same worry in his eyes. But Mike couldn't worry too long on such matters. He quickly got angry.

- Yes, we do… _we_ do. We… we're the Monkees, - Davy finished, somehow unsure all of a sudden.

- Ah, the Monkees! – the man smiled and made a strange, almost theatrical motion with his hands. – I've heard of you boys.

- You… you have? – Mike's eyes flashed in sudden hope.

- Of course! – he replied.- You see, it's my job to know what most people don't know. I must say you're a great musician, Michael, you have an incredible talent. David, - he turned to Davy. – Hats off, my little friend. The soul of the group… oh, and hello to you, guys!

Davy turned back – Micky and Peter were already there standing a little behind him and Mike, eating the strange man with their eyes.

- Micky – seems to me you prefer Micky, not Michael? – he continued in the meantime as if nothing had happened.

Micky could only nod, unable to utter a sound. People did not always know their group – not to mention all their names!

- So, Micky. Not many people have energy like yours – and the courage to be who you are. Peter… Peter, my purehearted one! Live on your nerve, you're really adorable. You're great, fellas, and don't ever doubt it.

The guys looked at each other and, though they didn't really want to, the smiles lit their faces – even corners of Mike's lips turned up a little. That man really made the Monkees curious! Still quite surprised, but now pleased too, Micky managed:

- A… ah… thank you!

- All the truth for you any time of day or night, - the man smiled. – My job.

- And looks like you're planning to make an office for yourself out of this place, aren't you? – Mike asked, tilting his head.

- I wanna set my boxes around here, - the man said casually. – They won't be any trouble to you, you can be sure. My job is in solving problems, not making them.

- What a job it must be to know what most people don't know… - Micky remarked half-questioningly.

- Are you a spy? Or do you know the future? I'm in awe either way! – Peter's wide eyes were shining with adoration.

The man smiled with his entire body once again – and then suddenly changed from kindness incarnate to a man official to the very marrow of his bones. He lifted his chin a little and looked down at the guys – he managed to do that even to Mike, though Mike was taller. He squinted and something in his face made it look like stone.

- Glad to meet you, boys – Mstislav Hatred. An expert on secrets, so to speak.

He held his hand out – it looked rough and hard, like a desk – and Mike shook it, squinting and examining the man suspiciously.

- I've got a few questions here, if you don't mind, mister…

- Comrade.

- Wha'?

- Comrade, - the man repeated calmly. – I prefer to be addressed as such. Well, you know, in my home country it's used and all that. In three words – I prefer 'Comrade'.

- Okay, very well, _Comrade_, - Mike said with a slight pressure. – May I ask _now_ since you don't have any more remarks?

- Yes, my friend, any questions you wish, - Comrade Hatred answered calmly, without a trace of mockery. That was annoying.

- Now what do you mean by 'expert on secrets' – that's first of all! – Mike said, crossing his arms across his chest courageously, boldly and almost glaring. He wanted to show the man he was the leader. Comrade Hatred grinned and crossed his arms across his chest himself.

- Oh, boys, too early, way too early to ask who I am! Wait until I open my boxes – and you'll see yourselves! My job is of the kind that you need to see at work once rather than hear explained a million times. I'll soon be helping people – and, seems to me now, some of you will need my help as well!

He looked at Mike significantly – and Davy saw Mike's ears burn and fists clench.

- Why only would you think that? – he said almost menacingly. He was finally tired of it all.

- I said: that's my job, - Comrade Hatred answered calmly and seriously. – And I _do_ know something about you. We all have some stuff we're good at, you know. You, Michael, are a professional in your area – music that wakes us up to life, I'm a professional in my area – people's secrets and issues with them. Consider me a practic psychology professor. That's all for now. As a professional, I see the problem here. It's been there since about Monday – I may have forgotten. There are only two people who know about it – I don't count – you and another one…

- ENOUGH!

Comrade Hatred smiled with the corners of his lips. Davy put his hand on Mike's shoulder, feeling those vibrations radiating from his man telling Davy he was gonna explode.

_He can't know. Nobody does. Even Micky and Peter. Nobody in the world knows about Monday._

He held the thought inside trying to kill it – it made him want to scream.

- Listen, Comrade Hatred, - he said as politely as he could, - I think that's really enough. You're our new neighbour, - without meaning to he emphasised the word 'our', - I don't want to argue and spoil everything from the start.

- That's a good will, - the man said thoughtfully. – Keep it. Use it.

Davy nodded, just wanting him to shut his mouth. God, he wanted to ask why the heck that man would come here and if he had anything to do with their pad, but those words were stuck in his throat. So he smiled instead:

- May I ask you one thing?

- Anything.

- Do you ever run into problems with your surname?

That was an awkward and childish question. It was asked just to ask something – but Davy felt it was his duty to be at least friendly.

- Problems with my surname? Plenty! – Comrade Hatred smiled, showing his big white teeth. His Hollywood smile looked sincere, but something wouldn't let Davy relax. The asphalt colour in the man's eyes lost the cold steel shade.

- You know, since I was a kid there've been a lot. People were…

He made a pause and Davy tried to help:

- Mocking?

- Not mocking, actually, - the man drawled thoughtfully. – Rather they were afraid…

He looked at the guys from under his heavy silver eyebrows and his eyes flashed steel. Then he became official immediately.

- Well, I still have a job to do here. I have to open the boxes soon – and time there is a little… Excuse me!

And he turned sharply, took his suitcase and took three long strides away. Peter hurried towards him, but stopped, barely having made a step, dropped his hands down and stood there stooped. Comrade Hatred turned his profile to the guys for one last time and threw over his shoulder:

- I know you didn't say it aloud, but, knowing your secrets, I can make one thing that bothers you clear. Don't worry about your place. I won't take it. I know you thought I was about to occupy your so-called 'pad', but I'm not gonna do that. Your one neighbour is moving in her new house today, you didn't know, I think. She _had to_. I'm living just next door. But I promise your problem's going to be solved. Good luck!

And he showed the Monkees his quite wide black back. Something like a wall appeared all of a sudden between the guys and Comrade Mstislav Hatred.

* * *

- I don't like him.

Davy glanced at Micky, who broke the silence unexpectedly. All four were sitting in the pad downstairs in heavy silence. It cracked at Micky's words.

Micky caught Davy's glance and hurried to explain:

- Well, you know… I don't have a good feeling about him. Don't even know why

- Me neither, - Davy answered.

The quietness was so thick he almost felt it break.

- Moron he is…

And it shattered. Mike's remark was the darkest. He didn't even raise his head resting exhaustedly on his arms. Davy sighed and embraced his shoulders softly. He didn't like Comrade Hatred either. He heard Mike sigh and looked at Micky and Peter helplessly. Two equally helpless stares were the only answer. Davy leaned on Mike and closed his eyes, stroking his lover's shoulder. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help it – the thought knocked at his mind and made all his insides curl into a little beating heavy ball. The man seemed to know their secret – the one _terrible_ secret. The Monday secret. Maybe those were just his illusions, but…

* * *

They had had a fight.

A _huge_ fight.

On Monday.

In the evening.

And that was one of the most horrible days in Davy's life.

It all started somehow absolutely unexpectedly. They were just cuddling in bed and talking quietly – about everything that had happened during the day, about the past and the future, they were laughing – softly or loudly, they were loving each other. And then Davy mentioned something about Mike being an idiot – it must have been after another quiet warm and wet and stupid uttering of love. And after that little word Mike slowly but confidently went from joking to the serious statement that Davy was 'too good' for him.

That sounded foolish.

That sounded childish.

That was absolutely not Mike Nesmith to say those words.

But it suddenly appeared to bother Mike seriously. And Davy's attempts to get his feet back on the ground ended with Mike's sarcastic 'you'd-better-leave-me-before-it's-too-late'. And after that Davy exploded…

How he regretted it! How he wished to erase all the words he had said at once! If he didn't get so mad after that phrase, maybe everything would be all right. But the thing was done and the painful shouts were thrown at Mike's face and spat into his heart.

In anger turning into despair, Davy had started blaming Mike for everything – for that love that shouldn't ever have been, for that pain and fear he had gone through – heck, even for all those mystic things that had come and gone! The memory of all that hurt. But one thing was carved painfully in Davy's memory. That moment was scary. Mike was listening to Davy silently, and then he rose – so tall and pencil thin, and sharp, and pale.

'Okay then, - he said. – I know my fault. You know, in one of my first songs I had a line I never wanted to say to you. We'll both live a lot longer if you live without me, cowboy.'

Later Davy cursed himself because his hurt and anger appeared to be stronger than his love at that moment. He just sat down on the bed and watched Mike quickly get dressed. And when the man stopped at the door in something like doubt, Davy dropped mockingly:

'You can't even leave normally! Live all your life playing roles. Now show me the hurt love and offended honesty – come on! I know that you won't leave. You know what? You're trying so hard to make a hero outta yourself, but you're nothing but a coward!'

Mike turned back a little and looked at Davy's eyes. Davy would remember that face forever so clearly and painfully – a look of the last despair was on it. The stingy green pain was looking from Mike's eyes into Davy's just for a few seconds – and then all Davy could see was Mike's perfect profile. The man looked down.

'I'm not trying to make a hero outta me, - he said slowly. Every word took a great effort. – I'm just trying to _be_ a hero for the ones I love. But what a hero am I if I can't even be a good lover for you? And you'll see that I _can_ go. I won't do it just to prove something… no. But I really think I shouldn't hurt you. Not again. Not ever…'

He paused and swallowed hard. Davy was watching him.

'I've brought you nothing but trouble, – well, also some huge pain, - Mike said, smiling bitterly at the last words. – I'm sorry for everything. I'm just leaving not to do anything bad ever again. And I stopped… I just wanted to tell you that I'll love you always and forever, whatever happens – to you, to me, to this town, to this country… to this world… and if you ever need me… I promise I'll come. I'll be near you. G'bye…'

He almost swallowed that last word, because his voice trembled. He took his guitar and left – stooped, he headed out of the room, downstairs and away…

And only then Davy had realized _what_ he had done. He jumped off his place and rushed to dress, heart pounding in his throat. He lived with the thought that Mike _couldn't physically_ leave, and that he would never ever even seriously think about it. The only thought that he could lose Mike made him forget everything else immediately. He ran out of the pad calling in fright: 'Mike! Mike!' – and he ran through the night, searching. Mike seemed to have disappeared…

Davy remembered minutes that were like hours, the long scary moments of the fruitless search, strange ticking time full of loneliness and fear. He could lose his Mike forever and that was all his own fault – that thought pounded in his temples and made him run. And then the rain started pouring down from the dark low skies, it hit his back and his head with its heavy drops, it was blaming him for that night, and the wind was slapping Davy's cheeks – it knew his faults, and Davy ran, soaked to the skin and lonely to the marrow of his bones, to the deepest depth of his heart. And then he stopped when he realized he was completely lost – a little figure, so alone in endless dark, surrounded by thick walls of rain – rain in his ears, rain on his lashes, rain whispering – shouting: – 'Guilty!.. Guilty!.. Guilty!..'

And a cold hand squeezed his heart: nothing made sense. Nothing was right. Nothing was sensible enough. Everything was just so utterly, rudely, cruelly idiotic.

And then he heard a sound. Barely audible, soft, warm, tender – dear. It came from somewhere far way – and it rose, like an echo, from the most intimate depths of the heart. At first Davy thought it was an illusion so beautiful it seemed to be real. But the melody called, it was talking to his heart so softly, it didn't promise miracles – it _was_ a miracle, a naked feeling flowing past his ears and right into his helpless, uncovered heart.

And he ran. Ran desperately. Ran to the sound. And it grew a bit louder – and it wasn't an illusion. It was a little ray of warmth going through the rain. And Davy hurried towards it.

And then through the thick rain he saw a dim light. He was running out of breath, but he wouldn't stop, and when he finally couldn't run any longer, he stood there on shaky feet, his heart pounding painfully – and he saw it clearly.

The man was sitting at the bus stop, under the cover of the shelter, alone. The lantern was shining dimly and uneasily and heavily. A lonely man under the lonely lantern was sitting there with nothing but his solitude and strumming his lonely guitar. He wasn't waiting for the bus – the last bus had gone a while ago. His eyes were closed, no, _he himself_ was closed. Davy took a few unsure steps forward. The man must have felt him. He raised his head and opened his eyes – and Davy drowned in endless tea-coloured emptiness.

He hardly remembered how he had reached Mike. He just suddenly found himself in Mike's arms, embracing his man and kissing him passionately and desperately. He remembered Mike holding him tight, keeping his feet off the ground, he remembered how his freezing cold shirt had suddenly become hot. And when he finally broke the kiss just because he'd run out of breath, Mike just looked at him softly and tenderly and said: 'Why did you have to come for me? I don't…'

Davy wouldn't let him finish the sentence – and another long wet kiss interrupted Mike. And when it ended and Davy finally managed to stand on the ground, his man smiled, smoothing Davy's wet hair off his eyes and said: 'Now you're soaked to the skin and what can I do now?'

'Take me home, keep me warm and stay' – Davy exhaled, breathing Mike eagerly.

'What for? – Mike said sadly. – I'm telling you, I don't want to ruin your life'.

'You've been doing that last at least half an hour, - Davy whispered, holding Mike tight. – Now I won't let you go. And you can do what you want – tell me how great I am and how stupid and bad you are, speak my own words to me – remind me everything, I deserve it. You won't persuade me anyway. Just _– don't –_ go.'

Mike smiled, stroking Davy's hair. 'You can't live with me and don't wanna live without me. What do you call this?'

'I call this love, - Davy answered passionately. – And I _can_ live with you if you don't make fights out of nothing and then decide to go because I'm 'too good'!'

Mike laughed quietly and leaned away a little to look at Davy.

'I'm telling you, you're soaked, - he said softly. – And your idiot needs you alive and well. What's more, you asked me to keep you warm… take off your shirt, and right now'.

He touched Davy's nose with the tip of his own and released the little man and quickly took his own denim jacket off.

Davy was standing there, unsure, heart still pounding in his throat, in disbelief and silent joy. Mike glanced at him, smiled to himself, putting the jacket carelessly on his shoulder, and then just came up to him, unbuttoned his shirt and took it off of him. He threw it away and wrapped Davy in that denim jacket – and in himself. And then he just picked Davy up, somehow so lightly, and kissed him on the forehead.

'Forgive me, babe, - he said quietly. – M?'

He looked into Davy's eyes – and Davy was in his hands, suddenly speechless. The jacket was warm and kind and it smelled like Mike. The light of the lantern was intimate and soft and loving. The man's arms holding him were strong and reliable. Davy put his arms around Mike's neck and touched his cheek with the tip of his nose.

'_You_ forgive me. We both did everything wrong. I'm sorry.'

Mike didn't answer. He touched Davy's smile softly with his own – and then carried Davy out of the shelter. He walked with long strides down the streets, and Davy just held him, trusting him endlessly – but much to his surprise they soon reached the pad…

That was like a fairytale – it ended too well. Neither Micky, nor Peter knew anything about it. Davy knew that the worst was over when he woke up in the Tuesday morning and on the bedside cabinet he found a hot cup of coffee and a little piece of paper under it saying: '_It's all my fault no matter what you say. I'll make everything okay. Adore you. M._'

The coffee was gorgeous. Davy wondered where Mike had found such great coffee – or if he was just a master in making it.

Mike himself had returned a few hours later, and took the group to an audition, not telling them where he was going – but anyway there they played and were hired for Wednesday. Gosh, they could earn more money than they'd ever earned before! The man seemed to really enjoy them playing.

But now even the prospect of that couldn't make them happy…

* * *

- Mstislav… terrible name, - Mike uttered suddenly.

- What should that mean? – Peter asked thoughtfully.

- Something with revenge, if I'm not mistaken, - Micky replied. – You know, one girlfriend I had a long time ago was obsessed with Russian history. She left me for her long one-sided passion for Ivan the Terrible…

- Revenge, Hatred… nice neighbour we have! – Davy snorted.

- But we gotta survive somehow, - Micky said with a shrug. He seemed to have already calmed down. Well, in fact, why would _he_ worry? – I mean, guys, the man we don't really feel nice about is not the end of the world, is he?

- He likes us, - simple Peter remarked with a tiny smile.

Davy shrugged. Now he was ready to admit that was an illusion. He decided not to think of the man. He got up.

- Fellas, we are playing today, aren't we? – he reminded with a slight smile. Everybody'd better forget everything. And he himself first of all.

- Let's play? – Micky suggested, smiling back. – Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse! We gotta sound our best tonight – and, guys, we're gonna be rich!

Davy ran to the back patio to fetch his maracas and take his place at the microphone, but he glanced at Mike and understood that he wouldn't be able to forget everything unless he found a way to make Mike take it easy. With a dark face his man got up, took his guitar and stood on his side of their improvised stage.

- 'Daydream Believer'? – Davy suggested. – Let's try that one, looks like we have some people to cheer up here!

- Okay, - Peter smiled.

- Let's rock! – Micky said and jumped up.

* * *

Translation of the epigraph:

'And me, I am Sancho,  
Sancho, Sancho, his servant, his son, his brother,  
Sancho, his only friend, his only follower forever  
And I'm proud of it!'


	2. Wednesday Night, The Official Opening

**Chapter 2. Wednesday night. The Official Opening.**

Mike parked the Monkeemobile among the chic cars outside the big beautiful mansion. Davy looked at it as he left the car – and suddenly felt little and absolutely, genuinely amazed. The owner of the mansion must be very, _very_ rich. And look who he had chosen to play for him – the Monkees!

Micky was nervous. He examined all the chicness around and looked really worried. Mike was somewhere in his own little world – he was looking straight ahead, but Davy could tell he didn't see or hear anything around him. Well, at least he wasn't worried anymore about the strange new neighbour. Only Peter looked genuinely happy. He looked around in amazement and joy and smiled at everyone they passed, even if they weren't looking.

The tall man in dark blue suit met the guys at the door.

- You must be the Monkees, - he said with a soft smile, as they walked in. – Don't say anything, don't tell me your names, I know you, gentlemen, - he closed the door behind them and announced: - Welcome to the Official Opening!

- Official Opening? – Micky asked, unsure, taking a step back. He looked even more worried now.

- Yes, Mr Dolenz, sir, - the tall man said with a smile. – You shouldn't worry, we've taken care of everything.

People in the hall were glancing at the guys with genuine interest, but nobody dared to catch their eyes or come close. People were talking to each other, maybe even about the Monkees, but nobody would talk _to_ the Monkees. The man in blue led the Monkees to the large room and opened the door with a welcoming gesture.

- Please have a rest here, gentlemen. We'll take care of your instruments, if you don't mind.

- We don't, - Mike drawled thoughtfully as he entered the room.

Davy followed him and Peter followed Davy, so Micky had no choice. The man in blue smiled at them once again and said friendly:

- If you need anything – just press the button you see here on the wall. I'm Bjorn. I'll come for you later!

And he took his leave and closed the door after him.

* * *

The first thing Mike did was run to the door to check if it was locked. But it wasn't. It flew open and Mike almost hit a pretty young lady. Davy could see her and had to admit he'd fall for her a little more than four weeks ago. Then he glanced at his man – and smiled softly. He had already found the one he would adore all of his life and more…

Mike hurried to apologize and closed the door. Davy only noticed the lady's smile and heard something like: 'Oh, that's okay, Mr Nesmith'. For some reason they were 'misters' that evening to all those rich and beautiful guests. Davy wondered why.

- I think there's nothing to worry about, Mick, - Mike remarked casually as he headed towards the sofa and lay down. – What do you think, Davy babe?

- I wonder why they're honouring us – I mean, _us_, just us Monkees, - Davy said, sitting down in the comfortable armchair.

- I'd like to know that too! – and Micky almost fell onto the large soft carpet right on the floor.

- I wouldn't wonder about that too much, - Mike objected quite reasonably. – They all look like they know what they're doing. Let's trust them. Maybe we are appreciated at last.

- Maybe in aristocratic circles we're stars, - Peter said with a shining smile.

Davy glanced at him and smiled to himself. Sometimes he wished he could be like Peter in his adorable holy stupidity. But really – perhaps… perhaps in _some_ circles they were known and appreciated…

He smiled at this thought. Whom was he fooling? There was just something funny going on there. He got up and went to the sofa just to stop near Mike and look at him.

- What? – Mike asked, looking up at the little one, trying to hide his smile. He surely knew how Davy loved just standing there staring at him. He even knew the answer to this usual 'what'.

- You know what.

- Sure. And do you?

This dialogue repeated at least twice every day. Micky turned his face away, giggling, while Peter looked at the two with a smile on his face. But Mike wasn't really about to entertain his little one. He sat up and crossed his legs – and so Davy knew he wanted to close himself. He just sat down near him and glanced at him again. He loved even just looking at Mike. When he could look at his man, he knew that Mike was there for him. And it was so good to feel that _he, _Davy was there for _Mike._

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

- Yes, - Micky said, getting up.

- Gentlemen, you're asked to come to the stage, - Bjorn said as he opened the door. – The Official Opening is to start in twenty minutes.

- Okay then, - Mike said, getting up quickly. – Let's go, guys?

The three others followed him out of the room. Bjorn led them up the huge stairs to the second floor and showed them the door. He opened it and Davy saw the corner of the huge stage. He was standing a little behind Mike, touching his arm, as he always did.  
Their instruments were already on that stage, as Davy could see, set out just as they should be. Somebody had taken care of everything, as Bjorn had said…

Mike, as the most courageous, stepped in first. He went to the centre of the stage, followed by the others, and smiled to everybody. Davy glanced at the audience, then at Mike's face – and relaxed. These rich people in chic clothes, who looked up at them in breathless expectation, made him think of a sea. But Mike and his strange but genuine smile, as he once again closed himself to concentrate on music, were his boat. And Davy knew he could be calm, even in front of those beautiful people. If Mike was so calm, why should he worry?

They were introduced by that same Bjorn. They started playing 'Daydream Believer' as he told them it was the Owner's request. Davy looked at the audience, glancing into each and every pair of happy eyes, feeling better than ever. His voice rose as he sang, he felt his entire throat vibrate pleasantly. Now if that wasn't heaven for a singer, what was?

'Now you know how happy

I can be…'

But when he glanced at Mike to see how his man was enjoying it all – gosh, he loved being loved! – he saw something he didn't expect at all. Mike's lips were smiling slightly, but his eyes weren't.

'Cheer up, sleepy Jean!' – Davy sang brightly, glancing at the audience and back at his man, hoping Mike would look at him.

And he did. He caught Davy's glance and moved his chin a little to the side – he was pointing at somebody or something there. Davy followed Mike's stare – and almost forgot to sing 'homecoming queen'.

Comrade Hatred was sitting at the table in the very centre of the hall, looking at the guys with a smile. He seemed like far away with his thoughts. His face was calm and joyous.

Davy forced himself to smile again and tore his stare from Comrade.  
_ Oh no_, he thought. _ Not now.  
_ They finished singing that song. The aristocrats applauded in polite, but genuine joy. Any other time that would have brought Davy only happiness. But he was uneasy. Mike looked calm, too, but Davy could almost _feel _him vibrate. His body was pulled tighter than the strings of his guitar. Bjorn came to the centre of the stage and announced that the Official Opening was to start. He led the Monkees off the stage and offered to walk them back to their waiting room. They had to wait until the official part was over to play more.

- Can we please stay and watch the Official Opening? – Davy asked.

- Of course, if you wish, gentlemen, - Bjorn answered politely. – Let me show you to the hall.

He led them to the huge door and they went in. There was a free table for four quite far away from the stage. The guys sat down on the chairs – and they watched Comrade Hatred's broad black back as he stood up and headed to the stage. He took his place at the microphone, facing every one – and smiled. Davy swallowed hard. Comrade Hatred was standing on the stage, looking right in his eyes.

- Good evening, my dear guests, - the man greeted. His voice was friendly and soft. – I hope you enjoyed the Monkees' music.

Another round of applause rose. Comrade Hatred waited patiently, with a proud smile, as if he himself had created the group, until the silence returned.

- I knew I wasn't mistaken, choosing these young gentlemen to play for us on this pleasant occasion. But now let's come to the official part of my speech. You know I don't like it all, so I promise to be short.

Mike poked Davy in the ribs with his elbow.

- I _don't like_ it now, - he whispered right into his ear. – Maybe we'd better go?

He pointed his chin at Bjorn, who was standing close to the entrance of the hall. Davy took a deep breath and then exhaled.

- No, - he said, barely moving his lips. – Wait…

Mike found his hand resting on his lap and squeezed it. Davy nodded without a word and held Mike's hand in both of his.

- Don't worry, - he mouthed and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

Mike nodded and looked at Comrade Mstislav.

- …Well, I must say that my experiments went well and I was allowed to start my practice, - he went on. – In my work with people in what I call my Boxes I am going to follow the Hippocratic Oath. I have to admit that the science we're studying and the area of the human mind we're exploring – feelings and secrets – is quite controversial. But my methods…

And after that he said a few sentences so intricate Davy didn't understand a word. Comrade Hatred must be a real professional – all those people in the audience listened to him with genuine interest and sometimes nodded significantly. But things he said were barely understandable to a simple boy like Davy. Comrade must have noticed it in his eyes. He smiled and announced:

- Well, I hope I haven't bored anybody with my speech, for now it's over. We can come to the Official Opening of the Boxes!

Two men dressed in dark blue suits, like Bjorn, came to the stage and gave Comrade Hatred a sealed envelope and a pen. They then took their places on either side of the man.

- You know, - Comrade Hatred said, as if he was addressing old friends, - I had to sign a lot of papers on my way to this opening. _This _is one last, and the most important, thing to sign. And the moment I sign it my Boxes will be officially opened. Let me sign it in your presence and finally finish with this tiring official part!

He opened the envelope and took 'the paper' out of it. He put it on the little table – Davy would _bet_ it hadn't been there just a few seconds ago – and signed. Then he showed it to the audience and folded it and put it back into the envelope.

- So, the Boxes are opened and my mission is officially started, - he said with a wide smile. – And now let me invite the Monkees back to this stage to sing some of their songs for you, my dear guests. Enjoy!

And he turned and went off the stage. The little table had magically disappeared – and, once again, Davy didn't even know how.

* * *

Mike stomped into the room, pushing Davy ahead of him and slammed the door behind his back. And groaned – it sounded almost like a cry.

- What did we spend the evening doing? Entertaining that moron! – he announced, punching the bed. – And his freaking _audience_! – his trembling voice he was trying to make sarcastic sounded bitter. – Damned _professionals_!

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed. He was trying to look especially angry – and that meant he was scared. As scared as mad he wanted to look. He could never be _this _cross, _this _mad.

He punched the bed even more cruelly and sniffed again. Then he fell on the bed – and buried his face in his hands exhaustedly. Davy went towards him, but Mike stretched his arm out, stopping him.

- Leave me alone, - he said in a hollow voice. – Please. Do. As I. Say. I feel like killing the first person to bother me.

Davy smiled and sat down near Mike on the bed.

- Now try it, - he said softly. – Just look at me and try.

Mike glanced at him and sighed.

- You're scared, - Davy said seriously again, putting his arm around Mike's waist. – Don't even try to deny it, I know. He frightens you.

Mike looked away. Davy sniffed, almost annoyed.

- I can understand everything. But now – what can he do to you? Bite? You're so afraid of him like he is about to eat you. I don't think he likes skinny lampposts like you, sunny!

Mike turned his face away quickly. Davy smiled. He noticed that the corners of Mike's lips turned a little upwards before Mike hid the newborn smile in his frown. Davy climbed on his man's lap and sat facing him. Mike tried to push him away, but Davy just caught Mike's face in his both hands and turned to himself.

- Don't make problems where there aren't any, - he said softly and seriously, looking deep in Mike's eyes.

Mike sighed.

- You know that I usually don't, tiny, - he said softly, looking away. – But I thought a lot of it all and…

- That's what you do all day long – think on the most unpleasant matters, - Davy said, a little offended. He touched the tip of Mike's nose with his own and gazed at his man worriedly, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.

- Yes, I _did_ think, - Mike said with no trace of annoyance. – And you know, I think he _really is_ some kind of an expert on secrets. He knows about Monday while even Micky and Peter don't. Don't you think that it makes him a problem for us?

Davy looked down.

- If he _really _knows about Monday – I guess he knows everything about us. And being of the _old generation_, he surely doesn't approve… anybody like us. He actually _said_ it was a problem, - Mike made a pause. – Expert on secrets. Doesn't approve. See now?

Davy shook his head. He really didn't see.

- He will find a way, - Mike said quietly, putting his arms around Davy's waist. – A way to use his knowledge. To 'solve' the 'problem'.

Davy swallowed. With Micky and Peter he could accept Comrade Hatred's words as meaningless and accidental. With Mike, though, the picture of _the problem_ was clear. But he needed to try as the thought came into his mind and he grasped at it desperately:

- Listen, you're just making all of this up yourself! There's a simple way he could have found out about Monday – maybe it's just that our neighbour heard something – or even saw, if my calls woke them up – and mentioned it to him before she left?.. you know our old ladies…

- Mrs Jack is another story, - Mike said, looking Davy in the eye at last. – You know what, tiny? She _wasn't_ going to move from here. She wouldn't even think about it. She couldn't. She didn't have any acquaintances or relatives – anywhere, neither far nor close! She was a sick and lonely old lady, even though she was so pleasant. She simply _couldn't _move anywhere. You see now?

- Wait, so… listen, how do you know that he's taking Mrs Jack's room, not anybody other's? – Davy asked, placing his hands on Mike's shoulders. – She's not our only neighbour…

- I noticed Mr Thompson and his little Lettie – well, his son, you remember - hanging a signboard there, over her door. Guess what it said? You're right, 'Comrade Hatred's Boxes'!

Davy gasped. So, he was this close. Only a wall separated the Monkees' pad and the mysterious Boxes of the one who _saw the problem here_. Comrade Hatred's Boxes were opened – now officially – right next door. And who knew what that man had done to the poor old lady…

- Now you see, - Mike said hugging Davy and pressing him close. - I don't know why I feel that he's so menacing. Maybe because we don't even know what he has done to Mrs Jack. I think he's done something bad to her, though I don't know for sure. Or maybe because he knows about Monday. Or maybe because he said he saw a problem here. I don't know, cowboy. But once I saw him, I felt he had… like, a hidden weapon. He's like a sheathed sword, you know... just because you can't see the blade it doesn't mean it's not dangerous, ha?

Davy took Mike's face in his both hands – and they looked into each other's eyes.

- Don't think of him, - Davy said softly.

- My dear, dear Davy… how I wish I could just forget, - Mike said quietly, looking down.

Davy moved even closer to him and whispered, touching Mike's lips with his own:

- Maybe I can make you forget…

- Make me, - Mike answered quietly, his voice softly turning into whisper. – Take me away from here, far away, to _your_ world… where I can… hide…

Davy kissed him on the lips, slowly, deeply, making Mike drown in him, in his love, in his tenderness. He ran his fingers through the dark waves of his man's hair. He caressed Mike's face and then his hands moved down, taking away the shells covering the naked body...

Mike let him do everything he wished. He just held that little warm being, stroking his young body, caressing it, but letting Davy do what he was doing, letting Davy go on. He wouldn't stop him for a single moment.

And he wouldn't open his eyes.

He closed himself for the whole world around, for the real world – but opened himself for Davy, for his love, for _their _world, for the feeling... Davy put him on the bed – and felt how well their bodies matched, how they were made for each other. He felt Mike with his entire being, from his skin to his heart. Mike took a deep breath and groaned quietly. Everything was in that groan – pain and pleasure, and desire, and something else, that couldn't be expressed with words.

His man's arms around his neck.

His body, so close.

The feeling.

They matched.

The darkness, solid and liquid, and moving, and flashing.

Everything was suddenly so hot and wet.

They were far away.

They were one…


	3. Thursday morning and noon

**A/N: **Sorry for making you wait for too long time. But here it is - the next chapter, if anybody's still waiting ^) Enjoy!**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 3. Thursday morning and noon. What Comrade brings in his pockets.**

Davy woke up to Mike's heartbeat. It was slow and even. It was calm. Not opening his eyes, Davy moved a little closer to Mike, hiding his face on his man's chest to keep this idyll from the morning that was already knocking at his eyelids.

But the sun had its own plans. Davy felt its long hot kiss on his shoulder and sniffed, covering himself with the still cool thin sheet. But the sun splashed out on him and the usually black screen of his eyelids became red.

Davy smiled, not opening his eyes. His man was breathing deeply and evenly. He was asleep a breath away from Davy. Nothing bothered him. Maybe the sun didn't want to wake him up yet.

Davy opened his eyes and looked up at Mike's face. Anyway he had to wake up, the sun wouldn't let him rest in bed. But he wanted to wake up to love as he fell asleep to love. He slid his hand up his man's chest, covered with fuzzy curly mist, up his naked neck and caressed his cheek. It felt a little scratchy already with what Davy secretly called 'beginning of the hair'. Davy laughed quietly.

Mike's face was beautiful. It looked yet untouched by any kind of worry. It was so gorgeous – and yet so imperfect and alive. He wasn't a marble statue, he was flesh and blood, and oh! such hot blood. Davy stroked Mike's cheek lightly. The man smiled in his sleep.

Davy sat up on the bed and yawned. He didn't want to wake Mike up – the man was sleeping so peacefully and Davy wanted him to feel good at last. So he just got up and jumped into his trousers and headed towards the door, ready to open it, to greet Micky and Peter – who were surely awake – and go wash his face and love the newborn morning.

But he stopped suddenly as he heard Micky's and Peter's voices talking quietly and… Davy couldn't even tell how. One thing he knew for sure was that it wasn't their usual way of talking in the morning.

A sudden worry stung Davy's heart. He pressed the doorknob slowly not to be heard and opened the door just a little, so they don't hear… he froze close to the door and almost stopped breathing, listening carefully…

* * *

- Maybe you should just tell them if this bothers you so much?

- And what do you think I should even _say_, Pete?

Micky sounded annoyed. Peter didn't seem to find a good answer so Micky's voice went on:

- Really, how are you gonna tell them? 'Hey, guys, you know, we are tired of it all, please stop or get out of here?'

- Of course not… - Davy could almost see Peter look down and run his fingers through his own light hair.

- No, saying it straightforwardly is not the way… - Micky said thoughtfully. Davy heard his steps – he was walking up and down the room. – Not a good way to make them understand…

- I'm telling you, maybe the problem is in us? – Peter said with a sigh. He had probably repeated this for a thousand times already. – I think that we – you first of all – have to be calmer about them. What have they actually done to us? Nothing. We should help them, Mick. Not make them worry even more – I bet they aren't easy about this all even now…

Micky sighed – but he sounded more annoyed than understanding.

- I just think that I'm already allergic to it… all. All their… kisses, hugs. Looks… even. I don't know why. In fact, what was wrong? Everything worked so well – Davy with girls, Mike with music… and we with them. No, then we weren't 'we with them'. Then it was just – we. Us. And now we're divided into 'us' and 'them' and… and it's difficult to live with them.

- Maybe it's difficult because you separate us? – Peter said softly. – Divide us into you and me and Davy and Mike… we're all together, Mick, nothing has changed.

- I tried my best to live with… it, - Micky stopped walking at last. – I can't help it. Because it can't be another way. They changed.

- They didn't.

Micky sighed.

- I don't know, Pete. Something is wrong. Not… like before.

- Of course something is! – a smile sounded in Peter's voice. – Because they're together now. But it doesn't mean that they're different than they were. Neither does it mean that they're, like, enough for one another. We all need each other still. As before.

Davy didn't want to listen any more. He straightened, about to open the door – and his bare back touched something warm. He turned back immediately, in surprise – and Mike looked at him. Something painfully green flashed in his eyes.

Davy sniffed. He said nothing – there was nothing to say. He looked Mike in the eye and swallowed – maybe that lump in his throat was the unsaid words, or maybe – that disgusting feeling that rose from the bottom of his heart and which he locked there. He didn't know. He looked down quickly, ready to go, no – run! – away, but Mike caught his arm.

Davy turned to him quickly and whispered through gritted teeth:

- I only beg you, don't say anything to them. If you don't wanna make a catastrophe out of this, for me, just – _don't_. Everything is as usual, you understand? You haven't heard a thing!

And he turned away, pushed the door and went down the stairs confidently.

- Good morning, guys, - Davy almost announced, failing at any pretending that everything was as usual.

They turned their heads and looked at him. Two pairs of eyes.

- Eh… good morning, Davy…

Micky's voice was strange and squeaking. Peter looked down – he couldn't hide his blush of embarrassment. They got caught. They looked like two schoolboys caught doing something forbidden by adults. A disgusting feeling filled Davy's throat. The feeling of a little boy whose company has secrets from him. He knew that feeling from childhood – and he'd hated it since he was a kid. He sniffed and went to the bathroom, straight and proud.

* * *

- Now that's not what I wanted, - the man said quietly, opening his eyes.

He was sitting in the comfortable armchair face to the wall. He would call it paper, looking down on it from the height of the power he had. This was now the only thing that separated him from a boy he was thinking about – and whose life he was changing with only a thought. Actually, it wasn't truly and completely separating the man, it was just hiding him from the eyes of others. It was a cover which made people's ephemeral safety that was nothing but another illusion. They thought the rooms were the boxes where they could keep their secrets safely – but they were mistaken. All mistaken…

The man sighed. He needed to concentrate. He needed to control his thoughts.

_Where's your professionalism, Mstislav? Oh God… Davy. Concentrate on Davy. Now forget, my boy. No, not everything. Let's make your memories become transparent like the watercolour. Like aquarelle. Now, Micky… Micky, you should calm down… everything should be as usual. Mike, it's not important. It's not important. Peter…_

* * *

The water was cold and it didn't care for anything. It ran in some fierce joy out of the tap and splashed little drops right into his face. And it managed to calm Davy down a bit. It washed the disgusting feeling off his eyes, off his mouth as he cleaned his teeth and finally he felt clear. The water cleaned him and he went out of the bathroom with a slight smile on his face. He didn't want even to remember all the words the guys had said. In fact, the words felt like they were washed away, they only left an unpleasant aftertaste. Davy didn't want to think about it.

They must have been talking while Davy was in the bathroom. When Davy came out, Mike's eyes smiled at him and his man said:

- Oh, Davy, I was just about to say – now that we have money, we simply _have _to go celebrate! Man, I don't think we've ever had so much!

- Now that we're rich we have to pay our rent first, - Davy said with a slight smile. – I know we're all so happy we want to jump up to the ceiling, but… we have to get rid of all our problems to feel good.

- Done! - Micky made a little triumphant dance. He was unexpectedly Micky again. – Done, done, done!

- We've already paid, - Peter explained. He was shining brighter than usual. – Mike has taken care of everything. Oh, if you only saw the landlord's face!

- Yeah, I think now he'll do anything to please us! – Mike said with a short delighted laugh. – And – can you imagine – we are still rich!

Davy laughed. The day with an awful beginning suddenly became much better. Was it a gift for them or what? Anyway it was a new colour line of their striped life – or maybe it was closer to plaid or tartan pattern. He skipped to the table and looked at everybody with a shining smile.

- So how are we gonna celebrate?

- Any suggestions? – Micky asked, making a 'pretty face'.

- I'll go wherever you guys lead me, - Mike said with a soft smile. – Just promise me we won't be flat broke by evening.

- I know what to do to avoid this, - Davy put a hand on his shoulder, - so don't worry. Each one of us will have his equal part – just enough to get himself a little gift he wished to be given. What do you think?

- Excellent! – Micky jumped on his feet. – I'm ready. Just give me my part.

Peter laughed childishly.

* * *

Davy was the last to leave the pad. He smiled at the bright skies. 'If you love Thursday, she's gonna break your heart' – he suddenly remembered. Well, this Thursday surely wasn't about to break his heart! Davy left the backyard and headed along the street, whistling and smiling at the passersby.

They decided to go each one for his little dream and then meet at the restaurant and have a good dinner – because their breakfast was nothing special, as usual.

Davy knew what he wanted – he had found a shirt quite a while ago, it fit him perfectly and it was still waiting for him – he didn't even know why nobody wanted to buy it as it was so gorgeous.

Davy surely was the one who cared about his looks!

Plus a record of his favourite singer – he found it at old Mr Thompson's shop where nobody went and it was a real gem. He'd probably meet Lettie – Davy adored Lettie. That boy of age about thirteen was really a little man; besides that, he was clever and it was great to talk to him.

The shirt was looking at Davy from behind the glass. Davy looked back at it and smiled at it. _Well, baby, you'll be mine!_ He entered the shop. He didn't need to try the shirt on as he'd done it ten times or more. But he couldn't resist. The girls looked at him curiously – he winked at them in a friendly way and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked excellent and he knew it.

At the pay desk the fair-haired girl smiled at him – and he smiled back. She stood up to fold the shirt neatly as she always did when folks were buying something and asked casually:

- And where's your friend?

Davy was confused.

- What friend? – he asked suspiciously.

- Well, a man came here right before you did, - she explained calmly, putting the shirt into the bag, - and he said that soon a nice-looking young man would come in so we should keep this shirt for him. He described you and told us that if we were curious we would be able to ask you who he was, who you were and all. He said you would most likely be together with a tall-dark haired friend, but I see you're alone, so I'm asking… though I don't think I'd make a mistake with such a description!

She laughed. Davy handed her the money and she opened the till to give him the change.

- That must have been a mistake, - he said in a second, stretching his arm out to stop her. – Maybe you shouldn't give it to me… I don't think that anybody would come and do that for me since I didn't tell anybody that…

- Well, you're short, dark-haired, and you're wearing exactly the same clothes as that man said, - the girl smiled, handing him the change. – You're Davy Jones, aren't you? From the Monkees.

Davy stood slack-jawed. Suddenly a thought flashed in his mind.

- Wait-wait! – he exclaimed. – How did that man look?

- Well, he was middle-aged, grey-haired, in a black suit and with a black suitcase…

Davy didn't need any more. He exhaled and pressed his palm to his forehead.

- And he… told you to keep this shirt for _me_? – he asked, not believing what he had just heard.

- Yes, - the girl smiled.

- Th… thank you, - Davy managed. – Thank you _very _much, I… I'm grateful.

- He said that you'll tell us who he was, - the good-looking dark-haired consultant said, coming up to them.

- He's… well, he… I don't actually know who he is, - Davy admitted confusedly. – And I surely have no clue why he would come here and tell you to keep the shirt. Are you sure he was talking about me? I mean… I'm Davy Jones and all, but… that's so strange.

The consultant smiled at him.

- Well, I don't think you should worry. Maybe he just wanted you to get what _you_ wanted.

- Well, I _did _get, - Davy mumbled. – But, ladies, I don't think you'll actually know anything from me. Sorry!

- Wait-wait, - the consultant caught his wrist when he was about to turn away and leave. – He said we could ask you about _you_. You know, that man looked like some important person! And won't you really stay here just a little and tell us – we'd like that!

She smiled at him charmingly. Davy smiled back with the corners of his lips.

- Well, I'm Davy Jones, from the Monkees, as that man told you… what else?

- I'm Bette, - the girl at the cash desk held her hand out. Davy shook it gently. About a month before he'd probably have kissed it, but now… Bette smiled and looked down. Davy knew that look perfectly well: the girl couldn't understand why he was so unsure. She liked herself, obviously. And her feelings towards him were quite noticeable, too.

- Violet, - the consultant shook his hand more confidently.

- Nice to meet you, girls, - Davy said with a little smile meaning 'sorry, I'd rather go', - but I have to leave your pleasant company as my friend is waiting and…

- Where? – Violet looked outside quickly through the huge window. – Is he as good-looking as you?

- He's waiting there down the street, he has some business down there so I have to leave as we don't have much time, - Davy lied, not noticing Violet's compliment. – I'll see you later… perhaps.

- This evening? – Violet hurried to ask. – Or perhaps tomorrow?

- I have a lot of things to do! – Davy threw, hurrying out of there. – And I don't think even the weekend will do. Come and see the Monkees play, if you want!

Bette followed his back with her stare.

- He's strange, - she remarked. – Is he crazy or what?

- I think he's queer, - Violet answered casually, looking around. The shop was empty. – Do you remember that smirk on the old fella's face when he was talking about the 'friend'? And I know this manner – shaking the girls' hands, no interest in us, trying to run away… we're good-looking, dear, don't even doubt that. Every boy that sees us falls for us. Even if he's taken. Even if he's not a boy – if he's old. If he doesn't – believe my experience – either he… well, _has problems _and just doesn't show his affection so we can't laugh at him – or he's a queer. And this one must be a great lover. Do you remember what Lila told us?

- When was that? – Bette frowned.

- Well, quite a while ago, - Violet shrugged. – Remember, we were on Lila's roof and she told us…

- God, I remember! – Bette clapped her hands. – I remember him now – she showed us the pictures of him! The one who spent less than a week with her.

- Right, - Violet nodded. – This one.

- She adored him, - Bette remembered, - and she said that he loved her madly. And then he just said that they'd better stop dating and that they couldn't be together… well, he left her, and actually she wasn't even really angry 'cause he was polite and all so loveable.

- Yep, she just refused to eat for about a week, - Violet threw sarcastically. – And cried herself to sleep every night. Nothing special… oh, no matter. I don't like him anyway. From Lila's words I thought he was better – and now I even know why he left her. And I'd advise you not to care. For queers like he is…

Bette smiled at her.

- I won't. And how's your guy?

* * *

Davy was walking down the street. He felt a tad wrong because of those two girls whom he had to get rid of. But Comrade Hatred's sudden appearance made him worry much, much more. Of course, the man told them that he was an _expert on secrets _– but Davy wouldn't expect that he would actually know everything that was on his – Davy's – mind. And why in fact would he come and tell the girls in the shop to keep the shirt for Davy? That was ridiculous. That was pleasant, but that was obviously quite idiotic. That was not like Comrade Hatred.

As he thought of it more and more, it grew funnier and funnier. Davy coming there with his friend… Comrade Hatred helping him – well, kind of…

Just – what for? That bothered Davy.

_Is he damn in love with me or what? _ – he smiled sarcastically to himself.

Everything was ridiculous and stupid. And not at all understandable.

He tried to calm down. All in all, maybe Comrade Hatred was just so kind… and they didn't notice it…

He shook his head. He was standing at the door of old Mr. Thompson's record shop. He should forget about everything and just enjoy this day, shouldn't he? He walked in the shop and breathed in – he adored that strange smell the shop had.

Lettie was sorting the records. He was doing it a little more fiercely than he usually did. Davy noticed that his mouth was closed a bit too tight. His light eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. Davy came closer and smiled. The boy surely was too concerned to notice him.

- Hey Lettie? – Davy called softly.

Lettie didn't answer. He just sniffed and didn't even look at Davy.

- Lettie…

The guy swallowed hard and sniffed again. He wouldn't greet Davy. Davy tilted his head and put his both hands on the desk right near the pile.

- Okay. If you're not in the mood for talking – don't talk. Give me that record you were keeping for me, okay, Goldilocks? I'll go away, I promise.

He called Lettie Goldilocks sometimes because the boy's curly hair was goldish ginger. That nickname was especially tender. Only Davy could call Lettie Goldilocks – not even the boy's mom and dad. Lettie's eyes sparkled wetly and he turned away quickly to throw over his shoulder:

- I sold it!

He said it darkly and almost painfully. Davy felt that something was wrong. He didn't care for the records now. He passed round the desk and came up to Lettie.

- He-ey, - he said softly, putting an arm on the boy's shoulder. – If something is wrong, you just tell me.

- Nothing's wrong! – Lettie stomped his foot. – Nothing! I sold it! There's nothing more for you here, so get off!

He sniffed proudly, but Davy heard his voice tremble. This rudeness was to cover up Lettie's tears, which were in his eyes. Davy squeezed the boy's shoulder.

- What happened, man? – he asked softly. – Did I do something wrong?

Lettie wiped his nose with his hand.

- I did! – he said. He was ready to cry, but held it in.

Davy put his other hand on Lettie's other shoulder and turned the boy face to him.

- Now tell me what this all is about, - he said softly, but firmly. – You don't talk like this usually.

Lettie sniffed and shrugged Davy's hands off.

- Okay, - he said, - I'll tell you. I will! And you'll then say that I'm mad and blame me for everything.

- I promise I won't, - Davy smiled. – Why would I?

- Because it's idiotic, - Lettie managed. – An old fella came here today and started looking through the records. I asked what he wanted. He said… well, I don't remember the name – 'twas the name of your favourite. I said we didn't have any. And he looked at me and said: 'Ah but you do, young man. You do have a record, but you're keeping it for your friend!' You know, it felt odd. But I said: 'But he will come for it and he'll be upset if he doesn't find it'. And then…

Lettie swallowed hard and looked away.

- And here all the… stuff began. He looked at me like this, - he showed Davy a stare, - and said: 'Well, it's such a pity. But I love this singer and I think your friend won't mind'… and I… I don't know! I swear I didn't want to say that! – Lettie looked at Davy, eyes wide and scared. – But I said: 'Yes, sir, just a moment'! He _made_ me say it, I didn't want to! And then he made me go and take the record, and bring it to him, and take the money and give him the change! Davy, - Lettie's eyes filled with tears. – I _swear _he made me do it all. Though he stood there just looking at me – he didn't even move.

- Oh God, - Davy said quietly. – How did that man look?

- Grey, in a black suit, - Lettie said, turning his face away. – White shirt, like shining. And… a black suitcase… I… I know how you wanted to have that record… you won't find another copy…

- Don't worry, - Davy said, putting an arm around Lettie's shoulders. – The record doesn't matter, Goldilocks. Don't worry. You just tell me – so, that man looked at you and forced you to sell it?

Lettie nodded, biting his lips. He was still trying not to cry. He betrayed his best friend – that's how he was feeling. Davy squeezed his shoulders and smiled at him.

- It's okay, - he said. – Forget about the record at all. I'm not blaming you.

- He was scary, that fella, - Lettie said suddenly, quietly. – I don't know why but I hated him immediately.

- It's even more ironic that his surname is Hatred, - Davy said thoughtfully.

- You know him? – Lettie jerked his head.

- He's our new neighbour, - Davy smiled bitterly. – You know, Mike feels weird about him, too. And I… I honestly don't know. Do you know what he did today?

- What? – Lettie asked absolutely childishly. His giant green eyes opened wide and he grew so pale that all his orange freckles stood out even more against his skin.

- Nothing really special, but he told the girls from the shop to keep a shirt for me – you know, I wanted to buy it right today. He's a strange man. And I'm beginning to be afraid of him, too.

- Why would he be so kind to you? – Lettie squinted slightly.

- I've been wondering, - Davy smiled at him. – You don't worry. It seems to me you had one record... – he said the singer's name.

Lettie nodded.

- This one is great, too. Do you still have it?

Lettie's face lit up.

- Yes. Yes, we do!

- Can you give it to me, I don't remember where it is. Okay? And cheer up.

Lettie smiled brightly and disappeared in the little room with a sign on the door – Davy never bothered reading it. He came back in a moment or two, shining like the sun. Davy took the record, handed Lettie the money, which he counted seriously and concernedly, and gave him a long mysterious look.

- Listen, - he said. – I'll tell you a secret.

Lettie's eyes widened in amazement. He looked around and moved closer to Davy. Davy put an arm around his shoulders and looked at him, squinting.

- Listen, - he said quietly. – Today we are rich. I mean we the Monkees. And we decided to make a little gift each one for himself. Listen, Goldilocks, I gave myself a gift already, but it will be a much greater gift if I can make _you _happy. What do you think? No, not that – what do you _want_?

Lettie looked at him with his mouth half-opened.

- You… serious? – he asked, tilting his head and freeing himself from Davy's arm.

Davy nodded:

- Absolutely! Come on – let's go!

A smile of happiness and disbelief lit little Lettie's face. He hugged Davy and Davy lifted him from the ground and whirled quickly. And then he put Lettie on his feet and smiled at him.

- I'll tell your dad so he doesn't worry.

He rumpled his goldish ginger hair and almost ran to another little room where Lettie's dad Mr. Thompson was busy with more serious things.

- Mr. Thompson? – he called, coming in.

The man raised his head and smiled at the little one.

- David! Hello, my boy. Is everything okay? Did Let give you the records you wanted?

- Yes, Mr. Thompson, don't worry, - Davy came a little closer to the man's desk. – You know, I wanted to ask you… if you don't mind – can I take Lettie with me for an hour or two?

Mr Thompson tilted his head a little and looked at Davy over his old glasses. Davy smiled shyly and looked down.

- You know, - he said, - I just wanted to make him a little gift. Because I myself was given one just yesterday.

The kind wrinkles around the corners of Mr Thompson's eyes became a little deeper and even kinder. The Thompsons were anything but rich. Mr Thompson owned that little shop, but not many people came there. And sometimes – but only sometimes – Lettie's life lacked some happiness.

- You're too kind to Let. He's a man!

- But such yet a little one, - Davy said softly. – And, you know, it's even better that he has _me _as a _too kind _one, not you or Mrs Thompson. You can't blame him for being a pampered child!

Old Mr Thompson's smile grew wider.

- We can't afford a pampered child, - he said. – But we can raise a happy one. Thank you, David. A little happiness is never a bad thing, is it? Take him wherever you wish, just return him. Okay?

- Thank you!

Davy flew out of the room, lifted Lettie up in the air lightly – he was so skinny he was feather weight. Lettie laughed. They ran out of the little record shop holding hands, like brothers or like two backyard mates – mates forever. Old Mr Thompson looked at them as they ran away and smiled to himself. For him Davy was Lettie's older brother and his own son.

* * *

- And don't forget to give this to dad. Tell him it's from us, okay? And if he doesn't take it, he'll make me very, very sad. And offend you. Right?

Lettie nodded, making a serious face. But he wasn't quite successful now. He was shining like a little sun, his cheeks were rosy, his goldish ginger fringe stuck to his wet forehead and his enormous clear green eyes were filled with happiness. Davy lifted him from the ground and Lettie embraced his neck.

- Davy, you're the best! – he managed joyously.

- I'm trying, - Davy answered, putting the boy back on the ground and smiling at him.

- You're my best friend, - Lettie said suddenly seriously, - and you should know it.

Davy laughed.

- I know. And you are my brother!

He stroked Lettie's ginger curls. The boy sniffed and shook his head.

- Enough of this. Have fun! Dad has more important things to do than sitting there doing my job. Bye!

- See you, - and Davy pushed Lettie on the back as he turned to run away.

- Wap! – somebody's hands squeezed Davy's shoulders and he gasped, turning quickly.

Mike's squinted tea-coloured eyes laughed at him.

- Hi baby!

- You idiot!

Davy tried to tap his cheek as a joking slap in a laughing anger, but Mike was quicker.

- I'm glad to see you too, - he said, holding Davy's wrists firmly in his hands and smiling at him. - I see you've found yourself a mate to have fun with, m?

Davy smiled.

- You can let me go, - he said playfully, - if you don't want anybody to think anything wrong.

And he winked at Mike. Mike looked down and released his hands quickly.

- Can't two _just friends _behave like two idiots once in a while? – he asked almost seriously. – And I was careful, unlike _some people_!

Davy put an arm around him and tapped his back.

- Let's go, _just friend_! – he said quietly, trying to hide his chuckle, but his eyes were laughing anyway.

They went down the street together.

- How is little Lettie? – Mike asked. He still wasn't smiling and Davy regretted reminding him of his habit. Perhaps he wanted to be a little more open at last?

- You've seen him, - he said.

- He was shining, - Mike said warmly. – I just don't know who you have found in him – a little brother you never had or a son… either way he adores you too.

- I know, - Davy smiled at the skies and squinted his eyes. – You know, he's like a brother and a son in one person. I don't know… 't would be great to have a son like him.

They walked in silence for a while. Mike was looking away. Davy sighed inaudibly. He could feel the vibrations of tension. As usual… he put an arm around Mike's shoulders – that looked more 'just-friendly', he hoped. He knew he was too short and it looked awkward. Mike turned to him and looked in his eyes.

- Hey sunny?

- What? – Davy smiled at him. – A new moralizing speech?

- You hungry?

Davy's smile grew wider.

- Glad you asked. Because I am. You know, running together with Lettie and going on every ride he wants is an exhausting thing to do!

- You have to learn to do this, father! – Mike laughed, tapping Davy's back. – Or how do you think you'll treat your son – imagine, this little curly sun comes up to you, looks at you with these enormous green eyes and says: 'Daddy, let's go…' Anywhere, actually, no matter! And what will you say? Because you'll have to agree, or he'll be looking at you with his sad eyes and you'll feel like a swine. And the same stare from your curly ginger wife – do you think you can stand it?

- What curly ginger wife? – Davy laughed.

- The one you'll have to have to get your own little Lettie, - Mike explained with a slight smile. – Because I'd say you don't seem to have a curly ginger gene! Though you indeed are a little sun…

- Don't worry about curly ginger wives, - Davy said softly, looking up at him and tilting his head a little. – You're the greatest anyway. Always remember that.

Mike smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. He always did when he didn't want anybody to see what was going on in his eyes.

- So what were you saying about hungry? – Davy said to draw Mike away from the topic that bothered him.

- Ah, you know, what if we have lunch together in some café? I know one perfect place, not far from the library, and not far from here. I'll tell you the stories from our terrible past… what do you think?

Davy smiled, unable to hide his blush.

- Inviting me?

- 'Course! – Mike winked at him.

- Rendezvous?

- Think what you wish, - Mike said softly. – I myself will find comfort in the hope that it is.

- Then let it be, - Davy smiled.

- This will be like your gift to Lettie, except it will be mine to you, - Mike explained, leading him to the café. – To make you happy, because your smile makes me feel like smiling. Connection, my friend. So much supernatural doesn't just stay there!

- How do you know that I feel happy when Lettie is? – Davy had to almost run.

- It's easy to know, if I look at you. And easy to know that you adore him. If I didn't know you, I'd think he's your son or nephew… or maybe brother.

- And about the supernatural – I agree.

- Here it is, look.

And Davy looked where Mike was pointing at, still thinking of fights with dark forces they'd been through – and saw a quiet little café. It was sunny enough to be cosy, but somehow placed so well the sun wasn't shining right in your eyes when you sat. Plus the awning was pretty and striped and it reminded him of some nice old European city – choose any!

All Davy could say was a quiet 'ahhh…' Mike pushed him on the back slightly and smiled at the waitress he bumped into accidentally.

- I'm sorry.

She smiled back at him.

- It's okay, Mr Nesmith.

- Hey, they – they know you? – Davy asked, turning to Mike and smiling.

- Well yes, - Mike said, narrowing his eyes in pleasure. – Tara!

The thin waitress, who reminded Davy of a willow, came up to them quickly.

- Is my favourite table free? – Mike asked softly.

- Yes, Mr Nesmith, - Tara smiled genuinely.

- It's Davy Jones, by the way, - Mike pointed his chin at Davy. – My friend and fellow Monkee.

- Always wanted so to meet you! – Tara held her hand out, shining especially brightly. – I'm Tara, well, you heard, - she laughed. – Your voice is adorable, Mr Jones. Especially when you sing. Love all your songs. Listen to them all the time…

- Oh, call me Davy, - Davy laughed, shaking her hand. – Nice to meet you, Tara. So you're the one who buys our albums?

- Well, I do, - Tara shrugged. Her smile was still wide and genuine. – Why?

- Nothing. You're just the only one! – Davy said with a chuckle.

- She's not, - Mike said, putting an arm around Davy's shoulders and pushing him slightly towards the table. – Her taste is contagious, all her friends now listen to us.

- Then I have to thank you, Tara, - Davy said, looking up at her. The girl stood at their table like a regular waitress already. Just her eyes were sparkling a little brighter than the other waitresses' were.

- Oh leave it, Mr Jones, it's thanks enough for me that you're here, - she said with a soft smile. – But let's return to our work – I work here as a waitress and you – well, if I can say _work _here as customers. Well, what work – but you do get something.

She giggled a little embarrassedly.

- What I'd like to get is… well, the usual, - Mike smiled. – And the young man will have… what will the young man have?.. – he turned to Davy and looked at him with that serious face which brought the most chuckles.

- The young man will have the same, - Davy said with the most charming smile.

- Very well, - Tara nodded and quietly disappeared.

Mike gazed at Davy's face and Davy felt his cheeks blush slightly. He couldn't help but look down. When in big company, Mike didn't usually go further than those looks, but even they were the most perceptible signs of that _enormous _love.

- Such a great day, - Davy said quietly. – Unimaginably wonderful. It seems to be filled with love, made of love. I… don't know… even that thing that happened to little Lettie seemed to work out for the best.

- And what was that? – Mike asked, keeping admiring Davy.

- Well, you know, I'd better tell you everything from the start, from the morning, - Davy said, looking at him at last. – You see, I'd chosen the gifts I wanted quite a while ago. The 'Quarter' shop was on the way first – well, you must remember 'Quarter'!

- Well, I do, - Mike said with a smile. – And, let me guess, your gift was that great shirt which I saw in the window every time I walked past it?

- You guessed, - Davy's smile grew wide and delighted.

- Bet you look wonderful in it, - Mike said, returning that smile and adding a note of his own adoration in his happy gaze.

- I'll show you as soon as we come home, - Davy answered softly. – But do you know the funniest thing about it all?

- Eager to know, - Mike made a girlish face.

- Now just for a minute – be serious, - Davy said seriously. – Do you know who had come to the shop and told the girls working there to keep it for me?

Mike looked at him strangely. Davy noticed a little wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows – as if he already knew who.

- Who? – Mike asked. His voice was absolutely not his.

- Comrade Hatred, - Davy said quietly.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Davy – and again something especially green flashed in his stare.

- Listen, - Davy said, putting a hand on the table close to Mike's, almost touching his skin. – I'm not telling you this to worry you or spoil your day. I mean, maybe Comrade Hatred is _really _an expert on secrets, but he wants to do us good?

- Would be nice, - Mike said quite darkly. – Well, let's pretend it's okay. But you were about to tell me something that happened to little Lettie, no?

- Gentlemen?

It was Tara. Davy looked at her, quickly moving his hand a little away from Mike's, and smiled. She put the plates and the cups on the table in front of them and rushed away, all so in a hurry. Mike looked at Davy. He was waiting. Davy smiled.

- Let's better eat. I'm starving, and nothing terrible has happened, has it?

Mike had to nod.

- You eat, but tell me anyway, okay? Because I'm worried now. You're not the only one here who loves our Lettie.

- I'm tellinja, nofing tewwible, - Davy said, chewing. – Ich was Comwade again.

- And what did he do this time? – Mike asked sarcastically.

- Took the record I asked Lettie to keep for me and wanted to buy as a gift to myself, - Davy explained more clearly, as he swallowed the food. – Listen, this is great, I need to remember this café!

- Want another date? – Mike couldn't help but ask and Davy made a face at him.

Oh Mike! But how he always knew…

- And what if I say yes? – he said in the most joking voice. – This doesn't remind me of one, you see.

- Because of Comrade.

- Nobody forces you to be so bothered over him!

- Nobody forces you to mention him either.

- Oh come on! – Davy sniffed. Mike was quite right, he couldn't deny it, but he still wanted to. – I haven't told you the funniest thing – well, not really the funniest. But it did make me suspicious.

- Something else this moron did? – Mike asked, sipping his coffee. His eyes looked at Davy from beneath his eyebrows in expectation.

- You know, as Lettie told me, - Davy said, biting his lower lip slightly, - Comrade asked him if he had the record by… well, no matter by who, you don't know anyway! The thing is that Lettie told him he didn't and then Comrade Hatred said that Lettie _did _and that I – his friend – wouldn't mind if he took it. And then he just looked at Lettie and _forced _him to bring the record, to take the money and give the change to Comrade. But 'forced' while not touching him with a fingertip! You see now?

- Well, I can imagine that, - Mike agreed. – But I can't see how it proves that Comrade wants to do anything good to us. After the story with the shirt it seemed to me that he likes you in some way, that you're his favourite, but after the record story I'm ready to change my mind. How does talking your record show his care for his 'beloved' Davy? Explain that to me, sunny.

- You don't understand! – Davy almost exclaimed. – Listen, if I didn't see Lettie so miserable… look. Comrade almost _reminded _me of my love to Lettie! And that's why I took him for that walk – gave him that gift he would never be able to have with the poor Thompsons' money – and I made him happy! And that made _me _happy!

- This way I'd almost think that he cares for Lettie, - Mike said with a slight smile. – Come on, baby, I don't think he will…

Mike stopped with his mouth half-opened, so Davy had to encourage:

- Will what?

Mike didn't answer. Davy turned a little to follow his stare – and he saw the familiar black broad back. No doubt – Comrade Hatred was there.

- Talk of the devil! – Davy remarked, turning to Mike.

- Literally, - Mike replied, looking concernedly at his plate.

Davy sniffed.

- Oh come on! Mikey, he's not the thing you should worry about!

- Oh isn't he? – Mike asked mockingly. – Then why is he staring at us?

Davy cast a brief glance at where the broad back was – and had to concentrate on his plate, too. Comrade Hatred was eating them with his stare. And though nothing could be read in it, he was surely examining them.

He moved his shoulders uneasily.

- See? – Mike said quietly. – We'd better go.

The next moment something hit his temple and he winced and turned. Davy followed his look. Two boys – a taller and a smaller – looked back at them and giggled. The taller looked to be about thirteen years. They were eating cherries and that surely was one of the stones which hit Mike.

- Hey young men? – Mike called calmly. – Will you please stop?

The smaller boy just giggled again, and the taller one made a step forward and spat another stone at Mike. Davy stood up.

- Stop now or – I promise – you'll regret it! – he said menacingly.

The taller boy squinted his sparkly black eye at Davy and another stone flew at him – thankfully Davy avoided being hit in the eye. Davy went out of the table, keeping his stare at the boy. He stood there, glaring. When he saw that Davy was ready to go out of the café he shouted:

- Look, Ben, a bugger is coming to beat us!

Davy was taken aback. He stopped for a moment – and another stone hit his forehead. The taller boy was a darned master in spitting!

- He's coming to protect his guy! – the little one's voice was high and squeaking – incredibly disgusting. – Oh, I'm so afraid, so afraid!

- Better run, Ben, if you don't want him to touch you! I bet being a bugger is infectious!

Davy was running out of the café, ready to give both guys a good punch so they would behave when a woman ran quickly towards them and raised her hand against them. The boys shut up immediately and shrank. She didn't hit them. She grabbed their hands, leaned towards them and said something angrily. The taller boy looked at Davy from behind her and shouted:

- We're sorry, queer!

His mother raised her hand again, but he freed his wrist from her other hand and ran away. He turned back as he ran and called:

- Peace, queer!

And disappeared behind the corner. The woman turned to Davy, biting her lips.

- I'm so sorry, young man! – she exclaimed. And she ran after her child, dragging the younger one by the hand.

Mike put his arm around Davy's shoulder. Davy knew it was Mike. He didn't even look at his man.

- I've already paid, - Mike said quietly into his ear. – We'd better get out of here quickly. Don't you know those guttersnipes… if anybody of them heard, they will be here in a minute.

They went quickly away, leaving behind the café, the boys and Comrade Hatred. In the backyards and even on the streets they were attacked – it seemed like all the boys from all the streets somehow knew that the two were in love – though they were just walking by down the streets – just like thousands of other young men. The passers looked at them suspiciously and they had to hurry. Finally they had to run – though Mike tried to stop Davy from trying to 'just run away'. But there was no other way to reach the pad clean, at least.

When they rushed into the pad, Micky and Peter's surprised stares were _so _relieving.

- What's wrong, guys? – Peter asked softly, coming up to them.

- Let us… regain our breath… and then we'll tell you, - Davy managed.


	4. Thursday Night, Inside of the Box

**A/N: **So, here's the next, if anybody's reading.

I'm always late with such stuff, but – the lowest bows to the lady who's been my beta for quite a while now, and lately is becoming more and more of a gamma, too – Dances With Irrelevancy on FanFictionNet. With rays of love to everybody, - enjoy!

How does this one feel?

* * *

**Chapter 4. Thursday night. Istvan. Jorgen. Bjorn. Inside of the Box.**

When Davy came to their room after the shower, he found Mike standing at the window in only his underwear. He was standing there stooped and didn't even turn when Davy entered the room. Davy wanted to call, but stopped. He just came up to Mike and stood beside him.

- You okay? – Mike asked quite weakly.

- Better than could be, - Davy answered with a slight smile. – And you?

- Well, better than could be, too, but worse than you may think.

- You're still so bugged over Comrade?

Mike nodded.

- And not only that.

- What else?

- I have a strong suspicion that _he's _to blame.

- To blame for what?

- For that attack of boys, - Mike replied darkly.

Davy looked down. Well, those boys were really strange, as if somebody had told them, as if somebody set them against him and his man… but Comrade Hatred! He couldn't really believe it. Why had he been so kind, then? Why would Comrade set somebody on his, as Mike said, 'beloved' Davy? It was not that Davy trusted the man exactly, but when he thought of all the things Comrade had done, he could see some positive sides.

- How possibly? – he asked, looking at the darkness behind the glass of the window.

- You're asking _me_? – Mike dropped sarcastically. – If I knew, little star, I'd find a way to prevent it… to protect you… and perhaps myself, too. But it's obvious that when Comrade Hatred is near nothing's gonna be alright.

- Well, what do you mean by alright? – Davy asked, glancing at him. When Mike called him 'little star', it meant some heavy stone on his heart. – You mean – as usual? As he's been kind to me – in his own sort of way, you see, but it all worked out well, em, I…

- First he was cruel, then kind, then cruel again, - Mike remarked with a sigh.

- Cruel when? – Davy sniffed.

- Remember Micky and Peter's morning talk? Don't tell me that you have forgotten most of the words like I did, just please. Whatever, they _never _talked like this before. Our dear saint Peter, he always tells me what bothers him… and he never told me anything about this. I know he'd do. Or I know I'd hear. Nothing, little star. Before Comrade arrived, nothing bothered Micky. Not a single little brat thought anything wrong about us. Nobody ever forced little Lettie to do anything without even touching him.

- Nobody gave us this much money.

- Oh well DAMN OKAY!

Mike turned to him and slapped his hands against his own hips fiercely. But his lips were trembling, and the long deep scratch on his cheekbone was already blue – some especially accurate marksman from one of the backyards had aimed a quite big sharp stone at Mike's eye, but, thankfully, had missed. Davy put his hands on Mike's shoulders and moved a little closer to him.

- Enough, - he said. – Quite enough. Comrade Mstislav isn't worth your worries. Why can't you understand? He's just an odd old lad whom we both – no, we all – would prefer had never moved here. But he's here and what can we do? Eat ourselves? Stop that, dear. You have me – and spit on all those Comrades, even if there are a thousand of them!

Mike pressed Davy to his breast and Davy caressed his neck with a slight smile.

- You know, - Mike said sadly, - the worst thing is that it's all my fault, too. And it's much deeper than Comrade's.

- Where is your fault? – Davy said quietly. – Forget it, there isn't any.

- You don't see… - Mike sighed and the tip of his nose touched Davy's cheek. – Open your eyes, little star. Can't you see – since the day I found myself in love with you I've been bringing you only trouble!

- You haven't, - Davy said, holding him tight. – _You _haven't! You've been bringing me your warmth and your love. And some people – and not people – were trying to fight it. And they couldn't. That's why we are alive and well now. I owe you my life, and you keep blaming yourself for every trouble you – we – are in.

Mike sighed.

- You know, - he said slowly, - this talk we had… about Lettie… about your son you want to have… please, listen to me now calmly, okay? I'll tell you something that is important to me.

Davy freed himself from Mike's arms, trying not to look annoyed. He could guess what Mike was about to say.

- What? – he asked, looking Mike in the eye. His man glanced away.

- You know… if you _really _found yourself a pretty ginger wife… you'd actually be able to have a son like Lettie, - he said in a strange unfamiliar voice. – And nobody would shout 'bugger' at you in the street. Nobody would be throwing stones at you. Your closest friends would not be discussing your love behind your back…

- Trying to get rid of me?

Mike sighed and looked down. Slowly shook his head. No.

- Then what are you saying this for? – Davy asked, knowing the answer.

- Everything would be better without me, - Mike said sadly.

- Do you even remember when this all began? – Davy asked seriously, trying to catch Mike's look. – When something bit me. In the street. Because of my own carelessness. And it turned me into a monster. Where are you in this story?

He tilted his head a little and squinted. Mike looked away.

- You were the one who saved me, - Davy reminded softly. – And you actually _died _doing it, sunny.

Mike sighed.

- And if everything ended there, if I could find a courage to put a full stop! But I couldn't. If that only wasn't for my stupid love… Micky was right, you know – or whoever put those words in his mouth: we were okay as we were. You with girls and me with music.

Davy folded his arms and looked at Mike like he was a stubborn child.

- And do you think that I'll let it be? Or are you really trying to get rid of me?

- I want you to be happy, - Mike said softly. – You don't know how much joy your smile brings me. And now I don't see you happy. And it's all because of me.

- Oooh…

Davy covered his face with his hands and leaned on the window glass.

- You don't even know how stupid you are to say that! – he said, trying his best to hold his annoyance – he didn't want another fight like the one on Monday.

- I may be, - Mike said quietly. – But then you don't know what a fool _you _are to stay with me. Listen, little star, I'm serious: you'd better forget it… as I see, Comrade has a stone in his bosom only for me. And I don't want anything bad to happen to you…

Almost unwillingly – Davy saw it – he touched the wound across his cheekbone. He pressed up his lips.

- I'm telling you – it's not your fault at all, - he said exhaustedly. – You could do nothing. And _please stop _with this talk about curly ginger wives. It just… makes me feel sick.

- You actually _want _it, - Mike said, turning his back to him and heading to the bed. – You won't admit it, but… you want. Everybody wants to be happy. I appreciate… I _love _your attempts to be happy with _me_. But sometimes… actually, I don't think you should. Try. It…

- I love you.

The three words – the key words of their lives so many times – rang through the room's tense air and shattered on the opposite wall. Mike's shoulders hunched even more. Davy stepped closer to him and repeated it:

- I love you. And you know it. And you love me too. And don't you?

- You know perfectly well that I do, little star, - Mike answered with a sigh, not raising his head. – And that's why I want you to be happy. When I imagined you and your curly ginger wife – sorry – and your _own _little Lettie… - he smiled softly. – Well, that was the happiest picture ever.

- You know what's _my_ happiest picture ever? – Davy asked, coming close to Mike and sitting down on the bed near him. – It's the picture of you and me. And stop this stuff, okay? They say that we hurt our beloved ones the most trying to be good to them. Don't prove it, will you?

Mike sighed.

- I'm just afraid that it might really happen, - he said. – You can find someone, and it may be just a matter of time, I mean, I can understand anything, but then… it'll be more painful to let you go, you know.

- Beginning your old story again?

Mike looked away – and Davy saw a lonely tear run down his cheek.

- My greatest wish is to keep you from being hurt, - he said, and his voice trembled. – But I myself act against my wish just following it… oh God, how stupid…

He buried his face in his hands. Davy moved closer to him and embraced his shoulders.

- Listen, - he said, trying his best to sound soft. – Just forget about it. Okay? Just – for-get.

- I can't, - Mike said quietly. – Listen, little star… I guess Comrade _does _have something against me. Such thoughts – I mean, like those I'm saying – have never come to my head before.

- I can't believe it, - Davy said quietly. – You, who fought the _demons _– you are letting some old fella win! You are so scared of him you just… you're outta your mind!

Mike didn't answer. Davy stood up.

- Listen, - he said, - I think we should have some time alone. I'll go now.

- Where? - Mike stood on his feet sharply. The green sparkled in his eyes.

- Don't worry, - Davy said exhaustedly. – I'll go for a walk. When you torture ever part of yourself – maybe you'll be able to think. And I myself need to think a lot. We'd better spend some time alone.

Mike stood unmoving for just a second, and then he rushed to Davy, hugged him and kissed him on the forehead.

- You're right, - he said quietly. – Go, little star. I'll be waiting for you.

Davy bit his lower lip as he pressed closer to Mike.

- Don't wait too soon, - he said quietly. – I love you.

- And I love you too, - Mike said, releasing him.

* * *

First god-knows-how-many kilometres he walked without thinking, just to get away, just to run, to withdraw, to disappear from sight. He hurried long strides down the street, barely knowing where he was going. But when he went around the umpteenth corner, he suddenly stopped, leaned on the wall of some building and closed his eyes tight.

He loved Mike, he loved him more than anyone in his life. But Mike – this strong man, his hope and his love – was now so weak, so weak! Davy wasn't used to seeing him like that. He wasn't used to seeing Mike give up. A cold hand squeezed his heart. Mike trusted him with his weakness – but it was unbearable to see him like that.

_Why, Mike? Why are you so hurt? You're hurting me with your pain… Why, why, why should this all happen?! Are we cursed or something? Mike, Mike, my dear, what's happening?_

- Mister Jones!

The call cut the silence and Davy started, opening his eyes wide. A man was walking fast towards him. He was wearing simple jeans and a shirt and Davy's heart fell – the shirt reminded him of Mike's…

He squinted and looked at the man's face as he quickly approached him through the darkness. There was an expression of genuine sympathy on it – and, much to his surprise, Davy recognized Bjorn from the mansion where the Official Opening took place.

Bjorn reached him and put his both hands on Davy's shoulders, like an old friend. Davy didn't even try to pull away. He remembered Bjorn very well. Not knowing what to do, he decided to trust the guy. He needed someone to trust. He didn't actually think that Bjorn was Comrade's man – he didn't know why. He couldn't imagine a 'Comrade Hatred's assistant Bjorn'. He would rather say Bjorn belonged to that mansion where the Official Opening took place – he knew who its owner was.

- Mister Jones! – the guy exclaimed.

- Hello, Bjorn, - Davy said exhaustedly.

- What are you doing here – alone at night? – Bjorn asked with the most genuine worry. He sounded like a fairytale character, only he needed also 'in the forest'. Davy smiled.

- Nothing special, Bjorn. I just… just don't wanna return to the Pad.

Davy didn't know why he liked Bjorn _this _much, but he had that feeling towards him he always trusted – that was the feeling that he had a reliable man in front of him. Well, perhaps it could betray him, but Davy didn't want to care. Whatever happened…

Bjorn put an arm around his shoulders.

- You can tell me everything, Mister Jones, - he said softly.

He looked like a loving uncle. Davy glanced down.

- Well, - he said, - I'm not sure. I'm just not feeling good and I don't wanna return home.

- Something wrong with you and Mister Nesmith? – Bjorn asked with sympathy.

Davy shrugged his arm away.

- How do you know? – he asked suspiciously, talking a step away.

- I overheard what Comrade Mstislav said, - Bjorn looked down. – He has a habit of making plans aloud when he's alone in his Box – and once I was passing through the Corridor and heard… though usually you don't hear what's going on inside the Boxes…

- Comrade Mstislav? Mstislav Hatred? – Davy asked, jerking his shoulder. – So you're actually Comrade's man? Some of his assistants or something?

Bjorn shrugged slightly, looking down.

- Well, I'm one of Comrade Mstislav's servants, I'd better say… but I must say, Mister Jones, I don't really agree with him in everything. You just don't tell anybody, okay?

His sigh was so genuine, and Davy wanted to trust him…

- Then why don'tcha leave?

- Well, - Bjorn said, looking down. – You can't simply leave Comrade Mstislav. It's a long story, Mister Jones. Let's say I have nowhere else to go.

- Okay, leave it. Listen, Bjorn, - Davy said quietly, - the problem is definitely between me and Mike. But I don't want to talk about it. Do you know any places where we could relax a bit? Because I need it.

Bjorn's eyes shone with the most genuine joy.

- On, Mister Jones, _do I know_!

Davy could only smile. Bjorn was so unlike comrade – he was simple and kind. Davy just wondered how come that this great man was one of Comrade Hatred's servants. But maybe this was quite logical – if Comrade Hatred had really come with good intentions. Davy threw those thoughts away, following Bjorn somewhere. They began to talk about the world and all, and soon Davy was quite relaxed.

* * *

- So, we're there, Mister Jones - Bjorn announced with a smile on his face. – Just a few more moments, Mister Jones.

He pressed his hand to the strange black square on the door and said quietly:

- Bjorn.

That was quite odd, but Davy just raised his head to glance at the stars – he didn't want to think of anything. But something suddenly caught his eye. He looked at the sign over the door and gasped.

'Comrade Hatred's Boxes' – it said.

- Boxes?! – he exclaimed.

Bjorn looked down.

- Actually I hope that Istvan is still away, - he said. – Because with him it'll be the fires of hell, I guess.

- What do you mean – you hope? Who's this darn Istvan? – Davy exclaimed, taking a few steps back – but the door suddenly flew open. The bright orange light blinded him and he almost fell back.

- _I'm _the darn Istvan, - the man's voice said mockingly. Davy looked at the orange rectangle of the doorway, squinting with the brightness of the light – and saw a man in a dark suit. His features were barely visible, but his hair was sleek and Davy could see the sharp triangular shape of his face.

- Istvan?.. – Bjorn mumbled, stepping back himself. – I… I thought you were… with Comrade Mstislav… away…

- Comrade Mstislav returned earlier than he planned, - Istvan cut off sharply. – Come in, Bjorn. And take the client.

- Wait, what? I'm not the client! – Davy tried to argue, immediately regretting that he ran away from the pad at all. He glanced helplessly at Bjorn. Maybe if this guy doesn't like Comrade, he'll at least try to help? But the poor guy's stare was just as helpless. And Davy understood that Comrade could easily to something to control his servants as well – as he did to Lettie.

Davy looked at Istvan and took another step back – and suddenly stumbled and fell. The next thing that he felt was somebody heavy and sharp over him and a sudden quick flash of pain in his shoulder. He gasped, but a hand in a glove – white, as he could notice when it flashed at the corner of his sight – covered his mouth. Davy felt strange weakness. His sight blurred.

- Help me, Bjorn! – he heard Istvan's imperative voice.

- Get off of him, Istvan! – Bjorn's voice exclaimed desperately.

- Shut up and help me! You wouldn't bring him here just to give him some tea, ha? Comrade Mstislav said he needed help – he'll get it!

Davy was almost unable to think. But he tried his best to stay conscious when he heard a voice he hadn't heard before.

- Shut up, Istvan, - it said calmly.

And Istvan didn't say a word. A sound of light footsteps – and that voice again:

- I know what Bjorn wanted. He didn't want you to attack poor Mister David. But, as you already injected the Liquid – I can't do anything here. Bjorn, help us, please.

Somebody's strong hands held Davy under the armpits. Another pair of hands – they were big, Davy could guess they were Bjorn's – held Davy's legs and they carried him somewhere…

- Bjorn… - Davy called hoarsely.

- Shhh, Mister Jones, - he heard Bjorn's soft voice. – Jorgen knows what he's doing. Right, Jorgen?

- Yes, dear, - that unfamiliar voice answered. – Don't worry, Mister David. We won't do anything wrong to you.

They put him in something like an armchair – it was soft and large. Somebody's hardened hands held his head and touched his face slightly. It was Bjorn, Davy was sure…

- Listen, David, - the voice of the one called Jorgen said. – The Liquid will put you to sleep pretty soon, but please listen to me while you're still conscious. Listen and remember.

Davy held on to those words. He was feeling like falling to the dark abyss of sleep – but not the usual sleep, and it was scary to fall…

- David! – Jorgen's voice called to him. – David, I want you to know we're sorry for Istvan. He didn't mean to do anything wrong to you. You'll now be placed into your Box. David. David! You hear me?!

Bjorn's hands began to tap his cheeks, but Davy only uttered a quiet moan.

- Is he okay?! – Bjorn's desperate voice was fading as Davy felt himself falling, falling. He tried to hold on to the words, to the sounds – and he couldn't.

The Box… so that's what they were going to do to him… Bjorn, Bjorn, how could he? And those two others – who? Ist… Istvan? And who was the third?..

- David! – Jorgen's voice broke through the darkness. – I can't guide you any more now. You're falling asleep. Don't fight it. Let yourself fall. It'll be okay. You hear me?

The voice was calling from everywhere. Davy groaned quietly. He tried desperately to stay conscious.

- Don't hurt yourself. Don't fight the Liquid. Don't fight its power. We want you to _wake up_ on the bottom.

- He doesn't want to fall, - it was Istvan.

- If he keeps on holding on, he dies. David!

Davy sighed. He couldn't die now. Because perhaps there would be a way out of the box. And would there be a way out of death?

He let go of the words, of the phrases and sounds. For a second he felt the letters, he almost saw them crawl out of the three men's mouths. He smiled – that looked odd. And he felt like falling.

- He gave up. Good job, David. Now don't worry… - it was Jorgen's voice, calm, Davy could hear a smile. – You'll be okay… yes… yes, Bjorn…

The voice faded and Davy flew, fell – no, floated – down…

* * *

The fall ended unexpectedly: there was a snap – and suddenly Davy found himself lying on his stomach on something cool and solid, his face down. He lay like that for a moment or two as his thoughts and memories filled his head again. Then he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes – and had to shut them again and wince. The bright light blinded him.

In a second or two, though, he half-opened his one eye, then the other – and sat up, not raising his head. He was feeling quite good – nothing reminded him of a black fall into the dark deep abyss. He recalled the voices and everything that had happened. So, now, he must be in his Box…

Well, if Jorgen said it – Jorgen 'knows'!

He rubbed his eyes. Okay, he said to himself. Whatever he was to see – he'd now raise his head and face it. No matter what he saw there.

He looked up and took a deep breath. He was sitting on a bright lit empty stage in front of an empty auditorium. The seats were blue with armrests of some honey-coloured wood. The wood of the stage was smooth and golden. Davy squinted. There was something strangely pleasant about the place, but the thought that flashed in his now clear mind was calling him.

_The pad. Mike. I have to get back there. I have to get back to him._

Davy stood up and jumped quickly off the stage. He passed down the aisle and ran out of the room. He found himself in a short corridor – or, better to say, a long rectangular room with four doors on each longer wall and one on each shorter one. It was lit quite dimly. The carpet on the floor was blue and incredibly soft.

All the doors looked exactly the same. Davy decided to check the shorter wall doors first – they promised more hope of finding something like a staircase out. But when he opened one of them, he found nothing but the same room – with blue chairs in the auditorium and the goldish stage. He checked the opposite door, but found the same. Puzzled, he checked each and every door three times or so, and finally he just leaned on the wall helplessly.

And that's when he heard the utterly familiar voice:

- At last.

He jerked his head – and met a straightforward amber stare. Another Davy was standing in the middle of the corridor looking at him calmly. His arms were crossed on his chest. He was there, straight and looking exactly like Davy himself, only his clothes were different. While Davy was wearing his simple t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, the copy had his special shirt and grey trousers on, his boots – Davy recognized them easily – were shining.

- What? – he asked, quite surprised.

- At last, - the copy repeated simply, stepping towards Davy. – I was waiting for quite a while till you woke up… then even longer till you finally gave up whatever you were doing. Well, what you? Actually it's me…

Seeing Davy's absolutely perplexed stare, he sighed and smiled at him softly.

- Let me explain everything from the start now, okay? You're in your Box…

- That I know, - Davy interrupted a bit hoarsely. He paused and cleared his throat. The other Davy shrugged:

- Then ask anything you want to know.

- How do I get out of here, first of all! – Davy said, still hoarse, folding his arms.

- Well, very easily. What's more, you can do it any time you wish.

Davy looked at the copy suspiciously. But there was not a trace of mockery in his simple calm stare, or in his posture, or in his face.

- How? – Davy finally asked.

The copy reached his arm out and touched something right between Davy's collarbones.

- You didn't notice, - he said with a slight smile. – You don't feel it.

Davy touched the little recess and felt something smooth and round in it – like a little stone.

- Don't push accidentally! – the copy warned with a triangular smile – Davy recognized himself and chuckled.

- Okay, okay, - he said. – Now tell me who you are. Or what you are.

- That's easy, - the copy shrugged. – I'm you. And you're me. Simply – I'm made of you. Talking to me is like talking to yourself. The only difference is that you can't lie to me. I can't help but say your own secret thoughts out loud. You shouldn't worry, though, nobody can hear us.

Davy bit his lower lip.

- You have a problem, don't you? – the copy said softly, putting an arm around his shoulders. – We need to talk, Davy. I know that we have to.

- You're Comrade's creation, - Davy said darkly. – Why should I trust you?

- I'm not Comrade Mstislav's creation, - the copy said with a smile. – I'm just you. Simply – a part of your mind. Don't worry. You can trust me. Let's just return to the room, sit down and talk a little in comfort and silence.

- How do I know that you're not lying? – Davy asked with a grin. – I can say a lot of stuff, too. But it doesn't mean that it's the truth.

- Well, - the copy said thoughtfully. And agreed: - It doesn't. But I can't actually prove it to you. I have nothing to make you sure. But you know what? Let's try, okay? Just try.

Davy sniffed nervously, but followed the copy to one of the rooms. He led the boy to the front row and told him to sit down – and sat down himself on the edge of the stage and looked at Davy, smiling and wiggling his feet.

- Come on, take it easy! – he said softly. – You can trust me as you trust yourself – well, why even 'as' if I'm nothing but you!

Davy sighed and looked down.

- What can I tell you? – he asked quietly.

- What's wrong with you, - the copy shrugged. – If you didn't have any problems, you wouldn't be here, would you?

- I didn't want to be here, first of all.

- If Jorgen let you in and didn't give you a painless way out immediately – it means that it should be this way. Jorgen knows!

And again – 'Jorgen knows'. 'Jorgen knows what he does'. Davy shook his head.

- Who is Jorgen to know?

The copy sighed and didn't answer.

- Who? – Davy repeated.

- If I could explain, I'd probably do, - the copy said a bit sadly. – All I can tell you is that everybody knows that Jorgen knows better – but nobody knows actually why. Nobody except Jorgen himself. Maybe he'll tell you if you ask.

- M-m…

They sat in silence for quite a while.

- So what's wrong with you? – the copy finally asked.

- Well… - and Davy doubted. He looked up at the copy and then glanced away. He saw Mike clearly in front of his eyes, he saw his man, he heard him saying those self-tormenting things…

He felt a warm arm embracing him and started. The copy smiled at him, stroking his shoulder softly.

- Is everything really so terrible? – he asked friendly.

Davy bit his lip.

- It's… Mike, - he said with an effort. – He… you know… he's… blaming himself for everything… like he finds pleasure in eating himself, tormenting himself so cruelly! And I… you know that I love him. If you're me – you _must _know… I adore him. And he… we…

And he suddenly felt that he could trust this young man – trust _himself. _Because some vibration inside him told him that. Something sudden. He didn't know what it was. But it was like something suddenly opened inside he told the copy everything – about the fights, about Comrade, about everything strange. And when he finished, it took him a lot not to cry as he suddenly realised how much of a pain the whole thing really was for him.

The copy sat silent for quite a while, softly caressing Davy's shoulder – he looked so absentminded he probably wasn't even noticing it. He finally glanced back at him and said:

- You know, it looks like it's really all Mike's fault. I mean, you know, he knows how it hurts you. He could at least stop being so 'oh-poor-me'… Feeling so sorry for himself – that's what I didn't expect from that Mike Who Gives Himself For Davy! – he sniffed.

Davy frowned.

- Don't say that! – he said crossly. – It's just how he feels, it's good that he's sincere at least with me. He's always been so thing-in-itself…

- I'm telling you, you can't hide anything from me, - the copy interrupted, squeezing his shoulder and looking him right in the eye piercingly. – You will never admit it, but sometimes you think – subconsciously – that you'd really be much better with some sort of a _curly ginger wife_. Mike was right!

Davy tried to push him away, angry. He didn't want even to think about it. He would never let even _a half-thought _like this in his head.

- I _love _him, whatever you say! – he exclaimed crossly.

- I didn't say you didn't, did I? – the copy asked, smirking with the corners of his lips and letting Davy go. – I just told you the truth. Bitter truth, but pure.

- It's _not_, - Davy cut off sharply and turned away.

The copy was silent for a second or two. Finally Davy felt a warm hand on his shoulder and tried to shrug it off. The copy put his other hand on Davy's other shoulder and turned him face to him. His face was smiling slightly.

- Listen, - he said softly, - there's no use in being angry. I'm just saying it out loud because I told you – I can't help it. Do you want to know what you really wish? You wish to be happy. And every man does. Mike doesn't make you happy – yet.

- Ah but he does! – Davy slapped his own hips. – Can you imagine – I'm happy! _Happy_! And you know what? No matter what you say or this damned Comrade thinks – I won't trade Mike for thousands of girls!

- Well, but you have both, - the double smiled. – You have Mike – and you surely still have thousands of chicks in love with you. So only you choose. And Comrade Mstislav… you surely think it's his fault.

- Who else's? – Davy sniffed.

- Well yes, - the double looked down with a smirk. – If you think, it really looks like it. If we look at Mike as just at the victim of circumstances… Comrade Mstislav surely looks like the circumstances to me. What about you?

Davy just sniffed.

- Okay, okay, he _is _to blame, - the double agreed easily. – You know, as nobody hears us now – I can tell you that not everybody who serves Comrade approves of his methods.

- What methods? – Davy flinched.

- Well… - the double looked down. – I can't tell you. Just can't utter. I'm controlled from all sides, you see…

- I see, - Davy said quietly. – Listen, man, you're here to help me, no? If I really have a problem – and I do, and even your celebrated Jorgen _knows_. And I don't want to sit here for such a long time. I have to come back home not to make anybody worry. So please tell me – without this 'Mike is bad' stuff – I've heard quite enough of it from him personally. I just don't know how to live on when I imagine that every evening… - he swallowed and looked down and finished suddenly hoarsely: - we'll fight like last Monday.

The copy nodded, understanding. He looked around.

- Okay, - he said softly. – Now I'll be serious. You don't have to worry about the time because no matter how much time you spend here – over an hour or just a few seconds – five minutes only will have passed outside. Time barrier, you see. Here the time doesn't exist. Nor does space actually exist here. But if you don't want to sit here, you won't. So, you want to stay with Mike, right? You love him.

- More than my life, - Davy said quietly and passionately.

- I know that, - the double said with a tender smile. – And you wanna keep it. He loves you too, but you know him. He can't help it. You opened him up. And now he feels wrong. You can't change him – Mike is too strong to be easily changed. So all you need is patience. Endless patience, my dear Davy. The patience of a water drop falling on a huge rock. You have to forget yourself sometimes, you need to just say 'no' to yourself once in a while – and when he sees that you do – he'll follow you. It'll be difficult. I know your character, too. It'll be hard for you to break yourself. But if you want to stay with him, you'll have to. Be patient.

- And you think everything will be alright? – Davy asked in hope.

- The best way! – the copy smiled.

Something suddenly flashed in his dark eyes, but Davy didn't understand what it was. He glanced at the copy gratefully.

- All right, dear, you need to go, - the second Davy said quickly. – Oh, if you only knew how adorable you are in your love!

Davy shrugged slightly and looked down, blushing. The copy put a hand on the top of his head.

- Go with my blessing, - he said. – And with all my best wishes.

And right when Davy raised his head and held his arms out to hug him – it didn't bother him that he'd be holding himself as deep in his heart he felt the copy was a different, absolutely different man dressed in his body – right at that moment the copy stretched his arm out and pressed his finger between Davy's collarbones.

Something splashed out on him – it was hot and cold at once, and for a second he became blind, deaf and dumb, unable to breathe.

The senses returned all of a sudden and he opened his eyes wide, took a deep breath with a gasp – and he saw three faces – three men leaning over him.

- Very good! – the one who was the closest to him straightened and sniffed proudly. Davy recognized his voice – he was Jorgen. _Now let me have a look at your celebrated Jorgen who KNOWS! _– Davy thought to himself, looking at Jorgen, squinting a little.

He was wearing a pair of black tight-fitting trousers of a light material – as Davy looked down he noticed that they were too short for him – dark brown perforated shoes and a quite old-fashioned white shirt. Bristle covered his chin and cheeks, it contrasted with his greenish-bronze skin – well, it wasn't unusual for bronze to turn green, Davy thought absently – and under the dark eyebrows – their lines reminded Davy of spread wings, - under the curly mess of coal black uncombed hair there shone his scary black eyes… the nostrils of his thin nose flared, he looked like a bird, like a horse, like a predator – and like a madman.

Davy tilted his head back – he was still sitting in the armchair. Bjorn was immediately by his side, worry written all over his face and the third man – he had a sharp triangular face and piercing crystal blue eyes – Davy could tell was Istvan.

He sighed and straightened. Jorgen folded his arms and looked at him proudly. Davy looked around again, sighed and stood up.

- So am I free to go now? – he asked with a bit of mocking, glancing at Istvan. Istvan frowned and looked away.

- You're absolutely free! – Jorgen said, smirking with a corner of his mouth. – I and Bjorn will walk you out of here so you don't accidentally fall into one of the Boxes.

He smirked – that must have been their kind of humour. And he led the way through one of the doors and down the long corridor. Davy followed him and Bjorn went after Davy. They came up to the door and Jorgen simply pushed it – it opened.

- See? – Bjorn whispered quickly to Davy. – Only he can leave like this!

Davy smiled and glanced at Bjorn – he looked guilty. He was still feeling wrong about the fact that he actually brought Davy to the Boxes – and to Comrade's so-called help. It seemed he was of the ones who served Comrade Hatred, but 'didn't support his methods'.

Jorgen looked at Davy piercingly.

- Okay, - he said, - David. I'll now go, I have to. There are a lot of things to do. Bjorn! – Bjorn looked up at Jorgen quickly. Jorgen stretched his arm out and tapped his shoulder. – Don't worry, dear. Look after Istvan and take care of Mister Jones. Best luck!

Bjorn smiled slightly and softly pushed Jorgen's hand away from his shoulder.

- I will, - he said.

- Love you, brother.

And Jorgen turned and went away. Bjorn followed him with his stare, still smiling. Davy had to call him:

- Hey Bjorn!

The guy turned to him with that same smile.

- Forgive me, Mister Jones, - he said quietly. – I didn't mean to bring you here…

- I have to thank you, Bjorn, - Davy replied, smiling back. – I actually got help from the Box inhabitant I met today. It's all because he doesn't support Comrade Hatred – like you, like me…

Something like the fear splashed in Bjorn's green eyes.

- Don't say that, Mister Jones, - he whispered, squeezing Davy's shoulders. – Please don't… not here…

- Don't worry! –Davy laughed quietly. – I won't tell anybody. Thank you. Give Istvan a punch from me, will you?

Bjorn smiled.

- 'Course! – he said, lively. – Not a problem.

- And what is that with you and Jorgen? – Davy asked with a little smirk.

Bjorn looked down with a wide smile.

- We're brothers, Mister Jones, - he said. – Istvan, Jorgen and me – we're three brothers. And three parts of one.

Davy raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

- You have to go, Mister Jones, - Bjorn reminded modestly. – It's late.

- Ah! Yeah, you're right, - Davy nodded. – Thank you again, Bjorn. Don't forget to punch Istvan! See you.

- Goodbye, Mister Jones.

The young man quickly went away and disappeared. Bjorn followed him with his stare and sighed.

* * *

Davy went through the darkened backyard to the Pad, feeling much better. He was so glad somehow that the copy wasn't 'for' Comrade Hatred! And the fact that he had helped him and 'didn't support Comrade's methods' brought a smile to Davy's face. The only thing he felt he had to do was thank the copy. He didn't even manage to say a normal 'thank you' before the copy pressed that thing between his collarbones. Davy decided that the next morning he would go to the Boxes and hug the copy – just to thank that man dressed in his body!

He entered the Pad quietly, went upstairs and closed the bedroom door behind his back. Mike was sleeping alone on their bed, curled up in the embryo pose. He was still wearing only his underwear. Davy took his clothes off quickly and climbed under the thin blanket. Mike began to toss nervously. Davy put his arm around him. Mike turned his face to him.

- Sunny?..

- Shhh…

- What happened?

- Nothing, - Davy said with a bit of annoyance, but bit his tongue quickly, remembering the copy's words and repeated softly: - Nothing, my love.

- Ah…

- Shh! Sleep, - Davy whispered, stroking his face lightly. – Sleep, sunny. I love you.

And he smiled and kissed Mike on the forehead before lying down close to him. Mike hugged Davy and buried his face on Davy's breast. He was so warm and so alive. Davy ran his fingers through the thick waves of his unruly dark hair and whispered:

- Good night, my dear. Love you.

- Good night, little star, - Mike answered with a smile before falling back to the sleeping depths. Davy sighed and looked at the moon hanging in the middle of the window. Patience. Endless patience – that was what he needed. He looked down at Mike, who was breathing warmly into his chest and felt that he was the dearest thing in the entire world. Davy would never let him fall, he would never release his hand.

The precious heart of his love was beating somewhere near his tummy – Davy could feel it. Davy had lost that heartbeat once. He never would again. And he'd never sell this feeling – the feeling of Mike so close – for any definition of happiness. Mike was his happiness. That was all he knew.

_Patience. Okay, my copy. I'm starting my way. My fight. Whatever Comrade wants to do – we'll beat him, right?_

He leaned his head down a bit and kissed the top of Mike's head.

_Goodnight, my lover, my friend, my brother, my whole life…_


	5. Friday morning, Divad, or Vaddy

**A/N: **Okay, here I go again, further and further. Some more mystery, some more stuff to happen...

Special thanks to my dear beta/gamma Dances With Irrelevancy on FFN - we (I and you, my faithful readers) owe her some good and important scenes. Be glad that this lady asks many questions! Lowest bows to her.

Thank you all, who is reading this. Love all my readers. And - enjoy!**  
**

P.S. And, _if possible, _I'd like to know how it feels to you... ;)

Your faithful.

* * *

**Chapter 5. Friday morning. Divad, or Vaddy. Pros and cons of saying 'thank you'.**

He ran away. Mike was trying to stop him and have him explain what had happened last night, but Davy just laughed. He kissed his man deeply, surprising him, before pushing him away and running out of the bedroom, down the stairs and away from the pad. He was feeling wonderful and he had some thanks to say.

* * *

Only at the door of the Boxes he stopped and hesitated. The black square on the door looked at him mockingly. Davy looked back at it, then around. The world was shining. It was filled with life. Davy regained his courage and knocked at that door. He hoped that the one who opened the door wouldn't be Comrade – or Istvan.

The door opened to the inside – strangely, because the previous night it opened to the outside. Davy looked up into Jorgen's shining black eyes. The man smirked and tilted his head a little, like a bird.

- David? Nice to see you – though quite surprising, too.

- Good morning, - Davy said confidently.

- Excellent, - Jorgen agreed seriously. – Come in.

Davy was about to take a step in, but suddenly hesitated again.

- Listen, - he said, looking back up at Jorgen, - I'm here to do one thing… I guess it'll be quite unusual…

- Come in, - Jorgen said quite friendly and his black eyes sparkled. – Don't worry. I'm not Istvan. What's more, you won't even see Istvan today, so nothing to be afraid of.

- He and Comrade must be away again? - Davy asked, coming in. Jorgen closed the door behind his back and bared his crooked teeth in a grin.

- No, they're both here. Bjorn just gave him a good punch in the face yesterday. Said it was from you!

Davy laughed.

- Oh my God, but it was! – he exclaimed. – And Bjorn _really _did?! Oh my!

- Yeeah, that was fun, - Jorgen said with a smirk. – To be honest, somebody _had _to. Istvan always understands Mstislav's words too literally… to me, he deserves all kinds of punishment for literally everything he's done.

Davy grinned.

- But you were about to say what you are doing here, - Jorgen suddenly remembered.

- Yeah, I was, - Davy said thoughtfully. – Jorgen, listen, can you please send me to my Box? Right now.

Jorgen squinted and looked at him suspiciously.

- Whatever for? – he asked.

- You see, - Davy looked down, - I need to say thanks to… to the Box inhabitant.

He looked back up at Jorgen and saw him smile – not with his usual grin, but softly. Something warm appeared in his scary black eyes.

- If you want, - he said absently.

- And, please, I don't want anybody to know, - Davy said quietly.

- Of course, - Jorgen said in the same absentminded way, putting his light arm around Davy's shoulder – he had large palms and incredibly long slender fingers, Davy noticed.

Jorgen led him in some little room and pointed to the armchair in the middle of it silently. He himself took a needle and a little bottle. Davy sat down and made himself comfortable. He didn't want it to be like the previous night.

- Thank goodness I was here, - Jorgen remarked after a second or two. – You see, I have a bottle of the Liquid without Mstislav knowing, - he turned to Davy and winked at him.

- Why do you have such privileges? – Davy asked with a little smile.

- What privileges? – Jorgen asked with genuine interest, filling the needle quickly and adroitly.

- Well, you even enter the Boxes somehow specially! – Davy remarked. – You have the bottle of that Liquid… what is it, by the way?

- Ah, the Liquid? – Jorgen checked the needle. – Well, you know, it's an easy way in and out. When it fills your body, it prepares you to entering the Box. And then it forms the Drop between your collarbones and guarantees you an easy way out – just press it and it will break – and you will be out of the Box. Simple as can be.

- M-m, - Davy drawled. – What's more, everybody says that you _know. _What's that you know and in fact – why are you so special?

- I'm mad, - Jorgen stated simply. – Now roll your sleeve up, I need your shoulder.

- Wait-wait, - Davy said, frowning. – What do you mean – mad?

Jorgen sniffed, unbuttoned his shirt cuff with a moment-long move – and before Davy could even blink the needle was deep in his shoulder.

- That's better, - Jorgen said, injecting the Liquid to Davy. It was opal-coloured and it burned his insides.

And then it was like the previous night – his body became heavy, he felt like falling… this time he didn't fight. He just let himself fall.

* * *

He jumped right off the stage and looked around. The room was empty. The blue and the golden were surrounding him.

- Hey!

He heard quick steps – and in a moment he saw a figure at the door of the room. The copy hurried through the aisle towards Davy. A smile greeted Davy, a smile on his lips and something unreadable in his amber eyes – the eyes of the different man, dressed in Davy's flesh.

- David! – he said, and joy sounded in his voice. – What I didn't expect, ha! Haven't seen you in ages!

- Ages? – Davy smiled. – I've been here only yesterday.

- Yesterday? – the copy raised his eyebrows, then frowned. – What yesterday?

- The previous day… - Davy said, frowning.

Vaddy sighed and looked down.

- Days… previous, next… time… I don't even know what those five minutes are, - he smiled bitterly. – That's been ages here. That's why I'm so glad to see you back. Nothing changes here, you see.

Davy looked down. He was feeling kind of guilty.

- Well, anyway, don't worry, - Divad looked back up at him and smiled. – That's nothing. Glad to see you here, though I didn't know you could even return.

- Ah, but you could expect, - Davy said, smiling widely, taking a few steps towards the copy. – Because you didn't let me do what I wanted yesterday.

- When? – the copy asked, looking at Davy with something strange in his stare.

- Well, when I was about to thank you, - Davy answered softly. – I owe you…

The copy looked down.

- Well, - he said a bit confusedly, - that's good. Though you don't owe me anything. A pleasure to see you, anyway, - he paused. – You don't even know my name… - he held his hand out: - Divad. You can call me Vaddy. If you wish.

- Vaddy? – Davy smiled. – Nice. Well, okay, now… let me just thank you.

And he took another step, covering that little space that was between them, and hugged Vaddy close. The copy held him, but then pulled away quickly.

- Enough, - he said. – You thanked me. There will be a thing to remember while I sit here.

- It must be terrible – this lonely life where neither time nor space does exist, - Davy said quietly, suddenly imagining the copy walking these rooms which were all the same, all the same, he saw the boy in that labyrinth – endless and so little at once.

- It's good that you asked, - Vaddy said, looking him in the eyes piercingly. – It was.

And something so menacing suddenly sounded in that 'was' that Davy stepped back, worried.

- What do you mean – was? – he asked quietly.

Divad looked at him straightforwardly and something familiar suddenly flashed in his deep dark eyes.

- You know, - he said, - I have to thank you. For everything. I, in fact, owe you too. But, you see, I can't help it. My life here is monotonous. It drives me crazy – slowly, but… it does. And you there outside enjoy the sunshine, love your Mike, breathe the air, get lost, get found and get older. Have mercy. You've had twenty-something years of it. And I haven't.

Davy's eyes widened as he touched the edge of the stage with his back. Vaddy stopped, looking at him calmly.

- I'm sorry, David, - he said quietly. The next thing Davy felt was a wave of pain starting between his collarbones and running through his veins. He choked with that pain, he tried to cry out – but he couldn't. He was falling down – down, down, to the endless abyss where he had to fall forever…

* * *

- David! David!

- Mstislav, darn it, you said it was unbreakable!

- Shut up you two! Help him!

A white hand with enormously long fingers pulled him suddenly up – and he felt like a drowning man at the surface, a man whose lungs are still full of water, but he tries to breathe, he holds on to his life. He choked and coughed. The strong arms lifted him off the ground easily and somebody carried him somewhere – he could barely understand a thing. His head was filled with pain eating his brain from inside, but the recess between his collarbones hurt even more.

Somebody slapped his cheeks, making him cough even more, somebody brought something to his lips and it poured into his half-opened mouth – it burnt his tongue and made him cough even more.

- David, can you hear me?!

He finally recognized the voice – it was Jorgen. He didn't sound desperate, he was almost official, though his words were filled with tension – but he was _doing _something – and Davy was grateful for that.

It took a great effort to open his eyes. Jorgen was leaning over him. He barely noticed Istvan holding Bjorn – Bjorn was desperate, he was trying to run to Davy, not knowing what to do – but he wanted to be sure at least of one thing.

- What… happened… - Davy managed hoarsely, weakly, barely understandably.

- Divad ran away, - Jorgen said, pushing his head down as Davy tried to lift it. – You stay down. Don't move. We're working.

- Vaddy…

This thought stung Davy. Vaddy's betrayal was something so terrible it was breaking his heart. That man dressed in his flesh could smile at him and hug him – and then just… run away, leaving Davy…

- What… has he… done? – he managed, finally finding enough strength to make his intonation a bit more questioning.

- He's just ripped the Drop off your jugular recess, Mister Jones – good for him he is the Copy, so he didn't break the Drop. And good for you, too, because, if he did, you'd be locked in the Box forever, - Bjorn shuddered on those words. All in all, he didn't seem so desperate, though still quite worried. – He ran away – out into the real world, out of the Box, where he belongs.

He knelt down near Davy, looking at his face.

- Mstislav! – Jorgen raised his head, he was furious. – Are you even searching?! Or what are you doing there in your damned armchair – relaxing?!

- I'm not a machine! – Comrade shouted angrily. – I'm working, and you shut up! Or take a notebook and now write down!

- Istvan!

Istvan was already there with a notebook in his hand.

- Name: Divad, shortened – Vaddy, - Comrade said sharply. – What he is you know, type normal, with no special powers. The reason for the runaway: the Idea. Idea with the capital I. Appearance – look at Mister Jones. Character – cowardly, cruel, though a great master of disguise.

- He is… - Davy managed, quite in shock. Jorgen squeezed his shoulder.

- And what did you expect, dear? He's your copy, which means he's your complete opposite. In the Box he _must _help you, so he can show only his good sides. But the Idea woke his entire character and so we have that little beast now.

- Shut up, will you? – Comrade cut off sharply. – Write, Istvan: Incredibly patient. Can do everything himself, but demands protection. Selfish, sly, will do anything for his own benefit. Weak heart. A full stop.

- Does he block? – Istvan asked busily.

- He _is _blocking, - Comrade said darkly.

Everybody raised their heads suddenly. Davy used all his strength to turn his head and look at Comrade.

- Are you kidding? – Jorgen's trembling sarcastic voice finally broke the silence.

- I wish I was, - Comrade Hatred answered darkly.

Bjorn gasped quietly. Istvan scratched his head, but his face said a lot.

- So he is a blocking one… - Jorgen almost whispered.

- He is, and it's terribly wrong, - Comrade answered, standing up. – I'll even say – this is scary.

- What is blocking?

Everybody turned to Davy. Jorgen bit his lower lip.

- Blocking is a phenomenon when a runaway copy makes you inactive while he or she is active, - Comrade Hatred explained darkly. – To say simply – while he's out there doing what he wishes, you can't leave the Boxes. This means he can make quite a… - he paused, - mess.

Davy swallowed. For a second he imagined Divad – the creature whose character Comrade had just explained – in bed near his Mike. Mike… he sat up, wincing, but determined.

- What can we do? – he asked hoarsely, but much more lively.

- Look at him, he woke up, - Comrade said quite mockingly. – _We _can do, means I and Istvan, Jorgen and Bjorn. You relax.

- Shut up Mstislav! – Jorgen cut off furiously. He looked at Davy and said with worry: - Listen, David. I guess I know what you're worried about…

- His Mikey, - Comrade threw. – Jealous, my boy… afraid to let him go.

- I said – _you SHUT UP!_

The words rang through the room as they shattered and faded. Comrade waited till the very last tingle disappeared – and his face lost its mocking softness. His eyes flashed steel as he looked at Jorgen menacingly.

- Now I've had enough of this, - he said quietly and threateningly. – You forget yourself. You'd better mind your place.

Jorgen stood straight under his stare. Then he said calmly:

- Okay. Calm down, you see the situation, - he paused and then added quite with an effort: - I'm sorry.

It wasn't pleasant for him – apologizing, Davy felt it. Comrade grinned. Jorgen looked at Davy.

- So, listen. I guessed right. It's just that I can't peer into your mind and read everything that you have there, - he cast a significant glance at Comrade. – So, okay. We will surely find a way to help you. I know… I know what you feel and…

He stammered a little and Comrade Hatred decided to interrupt:

- Well, David, _they _will find a way. Someday. And I have it now.

Davy turned to Comrade. He didn't really want to trust him – but what if he had to?

- Why would _you _help me? – he asked almost glaringly.

- You don't need it? – Comrade asked calmly.

- Make your suggestion, - Jorgen dropped.

- Okay, - Comrade Mstislav said with a slight delighted smile. – Any Copy needs to feed somehow. They're not people. They're different in many ways. And it's hard to explain the way they get their energy. It's something close to eating, but not quite. In the Boxes it happens automatically. The runaways, though, don't have the automatic way of getting their energy back. As our celebrated Vaddy, our runaway is without his Box since about… nine o'clock in the morning, - he glanced at his watch, - I could say that he'll need some food – or let's say 'recharge' – at about nine in the evening. That means he'll have to go somewhere – and nobody knows where the runaways are when they recharge. No-body. Don't want you to think that the Copies run away everyday, but this has happened before. You know how it always happens – the first time it was a great mess. Nobody was familiar with any of the phenomena and all… but we were improving ourselves. The runaways have been tracked during the researches we've had. But you know what's the funniest thing? They all were stopped completely accidentally. There's no one way to catch a runaway. At least we tried our best to avoid this _at all_ – but this still happens. Because nobody can control Ideas…

He made a long pause and then glanced at Davy and shook his head as if shaking something away.

- Well, the greatest experts couldn't find the place where the runaways recharge – that's what we were talking about. But it doesn't matter where he goes. What matters is that as long as he's there you, David, can take his – no, your – place back again. If you wish, - he grinned. – I can't leave you without a choice. Though I surely know what you'll choose. I mean, you can go to the Pad, talk to your Mike and all… but I think Vaddy will be very careful – that would be absolutely in his style. You won't be able to tell Mike everything. It's the part of blocking. And anyway the phrase: 'You know, Mike, you'll be dealing with my evil copy because he's blocking me' sounds ridiculously funny, don't you think? You can give Mike some hints, though – to guide his thought.

Davy took a deep breath, then exhaled.

- What's more, he'll have to explain his odd behaviour somehow, - Comrade Mstislav said with a shrug. – He has such a strong personality, not one you can easily hide. Plus, he won't eat a thing – as a Copy, he can't. You know, such a simple little thing… but can raise some suspicions. If your Mike really loves you so much – he'll understand the difference. It's the perfect time to test his feelings, m?

Davy looked at Comrade and something flashed in his eyes.

- How do I know that you're not doing this just to separate us? – he asked, trying to sound calm. – How do I know that your celebrated 'feeling testing' is not gonna work out by breaking our hearts? Explain. You know so much – share. Just so I trust you at least a little. If I get it right and I'm locked here for quite a while now – that'll be good for us both as we'll be here _together_.

Comrade Hatred looked at Davy seriously. Now for the very first time he was completely serious – and kind of strangely sad.

- Okay, - he said. – Let me start with telling you the entire concept of the Box. The Box is my invention. Imagine a little cube. Its walls have some layers: time isolator, space isolator – and the inner cube is the Box itself. The random interior. It also may be a prairie or a forest – anything comfortable enough. It this clear?

Davy nodded.

- For now, - he said. – This is quite understandable.

- There are more complicated things, - Comrade Hatred said, rubbing his palms together. – I have some more useful inventions that go with the Boxes. One of them is the Liquid. The Liquid breaks through time and space and makes you here in the armchair and there in the Box _at once_. And at the same time you're neither here nor there. It's hard to explain. You won't understand. Accept it. Once you have the Liquid in you, the transformations start. During them because of some changes in time and space and your body and mind divide, there appears your double. They are called the Copies. When the transformations are over, you find yourself in the box and see your Copy – and the Liquid forms the Drop between your collarbones, - his eyes suddenly became softly, warmly grey. – I work with such delicate substances… they're so fragile… and so mighty…

- Okay, okay, - Davy interrupted. – That I understand. With the Boxes it's still not quite clear. What is this whole concept even for?

- It's for helping people.

- Oh, that I heard a million times already!

Comrade Hatred grinned and shrugged.

- That's the truth.

- How do I know?

- You don't, - Comrade said reasonably. – Don't wanna make you trust me less, but have to admit that we hurt people the most when we want to help them – sometimes this happens.

Davy smirked sarcastically.

- I don't understand a thing here, - he said. – So are you helping or do you just _want _to help?

- I want, so I do, - Comrade's smile grew wider.

Davy sniffed.

- _Very_ clear.

- As clear as I can, - Comrade shrugged. – I don't force anybody to come. They come themselves. But only after they _realise _they need to go to me.

- And… you _help _them realise, - Davy said, looking at him piercingly.

- I don't want to discuss my methods, - Comrade said with pressure. – Not now. Not with you.

- But you do make them, - Davy insisted.

- Did you hear me?

Comrade's eyes flashed steel and Davy decided that he'd better close his mouth on this matter.

- Okay, - he said. – Then tell me about the Copies. They have to, let's say it, help. Right?

- They _can't help_ but help! – Comrade smirked proudly. – The program of the Box tells them to. But the personalities they have… mmm, they're mostly evil concentrated, - he grinned, then became serious. – The Box makes the balance. And that's why the runaway of the copy is so terrible. See now?

- Clearly, - Davy replied a little absentmindedly. He suddenly thought of Mike, who had Divad by his side.

Comrade looked at him.

- Thinking of them, right? You're afraid of Vaddy. You must be.

Davy nodded slowly. Bjorn's hand squeezed his shoulder.

- Jorgen, - the guy called. – He _has _to see them. Maybe he could borrow… the ability to _see…_

- I do not own the ability to _see_, dear, - Jorgen said quite sadly. – Mstislav, - he looked at Comrade. – You're the only hope. Will you give him a bit? Just on Michael, that's all. Just to _see_, no more options.

Comrade looked at Davy, then back up at Jorgen.

- We'll need some technique, - he said. – Some machines. Or do I say it wrong? You see, he is nothing special. His Mike – ooh, he is! The one who died and was resurrected by love, - he said it somehow especially proudly – but mockingly at the same time. Then he glanced at Davy and his lips formed a little grin. – David is not extraordinary. Nothing special, I say. If I let him borrow the ability, I don't think his mind will accept…

Davy listened, not quite understanding.

Bjorn looked at Comrade.

- Please, Comrade Mstislav, - he said quietly. – Try at least something. I'll prepare all the machines, if you only agree.

Comrade Hatred looked at everybody in order. Bjorn's eyes were begging. Jorgen looked at Comrade arms folded, waiting. Even something in Istvan's barely visible motion was saying: 'come on, just agree!' Comrade shrugged.

- Well, whatever. Bjorn, go bring all that stuff. I hope it's in some acceptable condition.

Bjorn nodded happily and disappeared.

* * *

The sight of the real world in front of Davy's eyes slowly blurred and was replaced by something like a screen, covered with some thin fabric.

- See anything? – Jorgen's voice asked.

- Barely, - he answered honestly.

Someone's hands moved the plates on his forehead and temples a little. The thin fabric effect disappeared and Davy saw Mike – and himself beside him. He gasped quietly.

- Any better? – Jorgen asked.

- I… - Davy managed and choked. – I see… him… and… I think it's Divad… there.

- Okay, you see Divad, - Comrade said seriously. – You will be telling me what Divad is doing, because I can't watch them now, for this I need to concentrate, while now I have to control the machines. You hear me?

- Ye-eah, - Davy managed. Vaddy was sitting by Mike on the couch snuggling up to him. Mike embraced his shoulders and answered something.

- I… can't hear them, - Davy said quietly.

Somebody must have done something because Davy heard their conversation.

- Hey sweetie…

Davy winced. The word 'sweetie' used towards Mike was so harsh to hear. He himself never said it that way, especially with that saccharine intonation…

- What are they doing? – Comrade's voice asked from the background.

- Nothing I'd like them to, - Davy answered. Suddenly he thought that maybe Comrade was testing him this way – he could control people, couldn't he? Maybe he did it all for that reason? Maybe he _wanted _Divad to run away?

- Hello! Are you gonna answer normally? – Comrade sounded quite annoyed.

Vaddy raised his head and kissed Mike on the cheek. And Davy didn't want to watch any more. He pulled all those little plates away from his head and jumped to his feet.

- Listen, you! – he exclaimed, pointing to Comrade. – I know what you want! You want to separate us – and that's why you sent that copy! You created Divad and you let him run away! That was your plan, ha? Don't try to object, I read you! All that story about the concept… and everything is just to keep us separate. You thought you'd kill our love?! Like hell you will!

Comrade tilted his head like Jorgen – a little to the side. His eyes flashed steel.

- What in the whole world are you saying? – he asked in a strange intonation. – I don't know how you even dare…

- Just what you heard! – Davy shouted. – It's all your fault! Mike was feeling wrong – and I should have listened to him and not trusted you or any of your creations! You moron! I hate you!

A strange bitter smile appeared on Comrade Hatred's face.

- Now how do you like that? – he asked mockingly sadly. – I help him and he's blaming me for everything!

- It's indeed your fault, only it's your security failure, - Jorgen remarked, folding his arms. – And the poor boy doesn't understand a thing. Maybe you should explain everything to him at last? Because this one will stab you if you are just a little rougher!

- What are you talking about? – Davy shouted, mad. – Listen, stop your professional talks! What should you explain?! TELL ME!

Comrade sighed.

- It's not yet time, - he said. – It's too early. None of you will tell him because I still can _control _and still can _see_. David Thomas Jones, will you please calm down? – he turned to Davy. – Divad is not my creation, why can't you understand. He's a product of your entering the Box. Once you enter, he appears. And then he lives there. I don't control him. I can't even hear what's going on in the Boxes. It's confidential, you see. I'm telling you, I'm here to help people, to solve the problems, not to make things worse!

He was interrupted by a ring.

- Damn it, - he said quietly. – A client. Istvan!

Istvan turned to him sharply. He was ready to do anything Comrade Hatred said.

- What are you standing here for? – Comrade Mstislav was annoyed. – Go there and prepare them. Jorgen will come in a minute.

Istvan nodded and quickly disappeared. Comrade turned back to Davy.

- Listen, - he said, trying to be calm. – It brings me neither happiness nor benefit that Divad ran away and took your place. I just found a way out of the situation. I can assure you that the runaway wasn't planned. Maybe only by Vaddy. This could ruin my career and a lot of people's lives. We have to stop Divad, but as he's not a real man, he can't be _controlled_ – you know what _control_ is, that's what I used on Lettie. I have to apologize, you know, because I had to do this. You know, you guessed right, I wanted to wake your love towards Lettie and I wanted the boy – and you – to be happy.

Davy frowned.

- What the heck? – he asked, completely lost.

Comrade smiled.

- If you guess something from the words I'm saying now – it's only my fault. One day I'll tell you. And I want to assure you that whatever my goal is – it isn't to replace David Thomas Jones by Divad the Copy.

- Mhm, - Davy mumbled darkly. The man scared him, but now he surprised him much more. – Whatever, - he said finally. – I don't wanna watch this stuff. It's just… unbearable. Just let me wait calmly till nine o'clock in the evening. And – I hope – I'll come up with some solution to this… this.

- Okay, - Comrade shrugged. – Whatever you wish. Though I still don't really know how to actually stop Divad. He doesn't depend on his Box anymore. He's uncontrollable. The Copies are not people – but they are not just things. You know, if the Box isn't planned to be used again, the Copies are painlessly erased. Their minds come to the clients' and there they are just absorbed. And everybody lives on. But the runaways… that is completely another talk. A long professional talk between the experts on secrets… a long dispute about moral and law. A plenty of thoughts on feelings and needs.

Davy sighed quietly.


	6. Friday Night, the Idea and the Try

**A/N: **I'm sorry for being so slow! Both I and my dearest beta (Dances With Irrelevancy on FFN) have been busy lately. I have to say that I'll be slow writing this story with all that exhausting school and stuff, please be patient!**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 6. Friday night. Blocked. The idea and the try. The power.**

* * *

Davy left the boxes, still feeling some force trying to stop him. He had to go for a tiny walk to get rid of the feeling – it seemed to grow fainter with every step and every breath of fresh air. The Boxes were pressing on him – Davy felt it now. Comrade told him that Divad couldn't keep him from leaving the Boxes any more, but there remained some leftovers of his power trying to control Davy.

The night was moonlit, cool and beautiful.

Davy's thoughts were dark.

What bothered him in the first place, despite everything, was Comrade Hatred. His strange words. His 'wanting to make Lettie happy'. He wondered if it was real. He had every reason not to trust Comrade as he couldn't know for sure if he was telling him the whole truth. Comrade Mstislav Hatred, the expert on secrets, knew much more than a simple guy called David Thomas Jones from the Monkees. He could understand much more. He could do much more. He had much more power. Maybe he was using them all – using Davy, using Mike, using Divad… using the Boxes and the people around them. Using this entire world for his own benefit. Davy was afraid of the man.

The second thing was Divad. The terrible character Comrade had described could do so much harm to Mike – and thus make him think badly of Davy. Divad could make Davy look anything he wanted: a traitor, a liar… a killer…

But – and this was the third thing – perhaps Mike would notice the difference. That gave a little hope, but Davy was afraid to hold on to it. The strongest hopes brought the most pain broken, he knew that too well. Though sometimes he survived only on hope – this time he had too much doubt. Mike was smart, Mike was special… but Divad was smart, too, he was cunning and patient… he could wait, but he would not give up. Davy could say he understood him – nobody would be eager to spend endless monotonous moments in the Box and then be 'painlessly erased'…

Finally, Davy had to come up with the words to guide Mike's thought. He had to show him the trail. He had to tell him that Divad and David were different people. But how? Man, _how_?! All those unsolved problems, all those questions with no answers…

He was standing beside the door of the Pad. He gathered all his courage and opened the door.

Mike was standing in the middle of the room, somehow strangely straight. He turned his head sharply at the quiet sound of the door opening.

- Babe?

Davy looked at him from the doorway. Something was stopping him from running and throwing himself on Mike's neck.

- What's wrong? – Mike asked, stepping towards him.

- What? – Davy asked in a strange voice.

- What – what?! – a strange smile appeared on Mike's face as he raised his eyebrows. His voice was saying 'are you kidding?!' – You went out five minutes ago not explaining anything. You've been weird all day long, stop already!

So, Mike had noticed something. The difference. Now that was a relief! Davy looked at him and smiled softly. _Oh God, Mike, my dear, I knew, I knew…_

- I'm sorry. I… didn't mean to, - he said just to say something. He couldn't believe Divad was _this _careless to let Mike notice the difference.

- Didn't mean to… - Mike sniffed. – First you started calling me 'sweetie' and kept on and on and on, and with that saccharine intonation – I just wanted to shake you! - he counted fingers, annoyed and nervous. – Haven't eaten a little bit, what are you doing, dieting? Wanna be a skeleton like me?

Davy smiled.

- Not really. One skeleton for the group is quite enough.

Mike didn't even smile.

- Then what – are you sick or something? Davy! – he grabbed his shoulders. – Don't shut me out, hey! Even after all those… fights – please, trust me! You know you can. You can tell me everything!

He looked deep into his eyes, as if he was trying to see his thoughts. Davy looked away.

- I… it's okay, - he said, freeing himself softly from Mike's hands. – Don't worry. Please. It's all right with me. I promise.

- Okay, maybe, - Mike didn't seem a little bit easier. – Then I think it's Comrade Hatred again. If it's all right with you and with me – something is not right outside, right? – he started pacing up and down the room. – I think all the wrong things – even our fights – happen because of him. Believe me or not. Because I noticed they happen when he's somewhere near.

Davy sighed.

- Maybe, - he said quietly. – I don't know. Maybe. I must say I'm not sure of anything now.

That was true. Davy was completely lost.

- Maybe I'd better go there and have a good talk to him? – Mike said thoughtfully. – I really want to do it. It'll be a good chance to sort this whole thing out, once and for all!

- NO!

The shout burst out all of a sudden. Davy squeezed Mike's shoulders and looked in his eyes in fright.

- Don't worry, I won't kill him, - Mike smirked sarcastically. – At least if he doesn't try any of his tricks.

- Don't, - Davy said, swallowing.

- What? – Mike asked, confusedly this time.

- Don't even think about it, - Davy said, trying to calm down and not make Mike suspicious.

He shouldn't come to the Boxes. Well, Comrade Hatred, or Jorgen, or Bjorn, if nobody else, could probably explain some things to him – they at least weren't blocked. He even thought of bringing Bjorn with him to tell Mike - but alas! When he came to ask him, Bjorn got confused, looked down and explained, that, em, he would love to go with Mister Jones, but, you see, they were helping him Comrade Mstislav in trying to stop Divad, and, em, there were only three of them, and Jorgen and Istvan were in Divad's Box looking for some... em… he didn't know how to explain, he would better not, but just, you see, he was the only one to stay helping Comrade Mstislav, and there was a lot of work to do, and anyway they were not allowed to go and work at anybody's place without Comrade Mstislav, and he was sorry, but they were busy, and, em…

What's more, Davy was afraid for his man. Nobody knew how to stop Vaddy – that was the first thing. Plus, Davy still wasn't sure about Comrade Hatred. What if he had foreseen this variant – Mike's coming to the Boxes? What if it was a trap? What if Comrade Hatred was preparing a free Box? What if Istvan was waiting for him with a needle of Liquid? What if…

- If you go there, Mikey, it won't be right. It's crazy, I know, it's like a nightmare, to me too, but believe me… that… that could be a trap, listen, that _so _could be! Please don't. There's that Istvan, he's injecting something to people and they go to their Boxes, and then strange stuff happens, and it's not at al good, and then there is that guy, Com… - Davy almost choked on the words when he understood _what exactly _he was saying. It was all said out of despair, he didn't even notice. And now sudden unexpected joy came out with the truth – he _could _say that, _nothing _could stop him!

He breathed in, almost crazy happiness written all over his face. But Mike looked at him quite strangely.

- Emm… will you please stop looking at me like this? - he said, stepping a tad bit back. – I can't actually get your telepathic messages.

Davy's mouth opened.

- A-ah… what telepathic messages? – he asked, lost.

- The ones you look like you're trying to send me, - Mike said sarcastically. – Come on, now I'll have to go there!

He tried to free himself softly from Davy's strong wiry hands.

- And as soon as possible, - he added after a second. - You look really strange, but in fact – really as if you know something.

- Don't be ridiculous!

That was a good way out – to wear a sarcastic mask. Davy came to himself quickly. Mike stopped and looked at him, squinting.

- Listen, - he said – and stopped, choking and swallowing.

- I'm listening, - Davy said, trying to sound calm. – You listen to me. What do you want – more problems? Don't you have enough now?

He was trying his best to sound soft. Mike sighed and looked down, stooped again.

- I don't know, - he said quietly. – I have enough problems, quite enough. But… this whole thing…

And a sudden thought struck Davy. He didn't even know why he thought of that in this moment. He thought of Vaddy. What if Mike's patience gave way _just a bit _earlier? What if he shouted that all at Vaddy? 'Cruel… will do anything for his own benefit…' – Comrade Hatred's voice sounded in his head. And Davy's heart fell as he understood _what _that creature could do to Mike if he was under threat of exposure.

_Oh God. I have a little time. No, I knew that, but, man, I have even less than I thought I had!_

He froze, looking at Mike and barely seeing him. He suddenly realized that by seeing the difference his man put himself in danger. He swallowed hard. He needed to keep calm and not panic. And he needed to have Mike calm, he needed his man trusting him to be able to guide him, as now it turned out to be so urgent.

- Mike, - he said quietly. – Let's go to bed, okay? Everything will be all right. I promise.

- I'd be glad to believe you, - Mike sighed, coming up to him, - but not everything depends on us, sunny.

- I know, - Davy said, looking him right in the eye. – But I'll do everything that depends on me.

And he meant it. Mike smiled with the corners of his lips.

- My little star, - he said, leaning to Davy and kissing him on the forehead. – You are the best living creature.

Davy stroked his hair.

- I'm trying hard, - he said with a slight smile. – But what would I be without you?

* * *

He climbed under the blanket and curled up close to Mike. The worry was hiding inside him, curling up in his abdomen, twining around him like a snake. Mike softly caressed his skin, moving down his body. Davy caught his hand thoughtlessly on his hip and pressed it to his chest.

- Hey…

Davy looked up at Mike. He was exhausted, he was anxious, he was helpless. Maybe Mike saw it in his eyes. He put his hand on Davy's cheek and softly raised his face a little to kiss him. Davy kissed back softly, but still quite absentmindedly. Mike let go of his lips and Davy ran his hand down his man's long neck, across his collarbones… and he caught the thin chain. He ran his fingers down the chain and found the tiny locket. Still barely understanding what he was doing, he opened the locket – it clicked quietly – and saw their smiling faces.

And a sudden thought flashed in his mind.

He looked up at Mike.

- Mikey, - he said quietly. – Please, give me this.

- Okay, - Mike shrugged slightly and quickly took off the locket to put it on Davy. Davy caught the thing and squeezed it in his fingers.

- It reminds me… - he didn't finish. And there was no need to. Mike knew perfectly well what it reminded him of.

- I know, - his man said softly. – Me too.

- I will wear it always, - Davy said with a slight smile. – Well, until you maybe ask me to give it back to you. I don't know what will happen if I lose it.

Mike shrugged.

- Nothing will happen, in fact. If you think – really, it reminds us not because the locket exists, but because it's happened and it meant something. But – if you want to wear it always – please do. I'd love that.

- It's a bodily reassurance, - Davy said absentmindedly.

- I can give you a better one, - Mike said with a wide smile.

- What?

He already knew. Mike held him, turned him on his back, rolling on top of him and kissing him hard. Davy kissed back through unbidden laughter. Oh gosh, Mike could make him happy no matter what.

He broke the kiss and turned his face away, still smiling. Okay, he thought, the locket was a good idea. Vaddy couldn't have it. As Mike didn't really care about the locket's existence, it wouldn't be much of a problem to him when it wouldn't be there around Vaddy's neck, this way it wouldn't be a problem for Vaddy and wouldn't put Mike in danger. But Mike might throw something like 'Hey, you said you'd never take it off', or, 'You were so afraid to lose it' – and Vaddy would start mumbling some excuse… and then, at night, he, Davy, would say that he never lost the locket and, as he said, never took it off, and then…

He pushed Mike away.

- You're the craziest man I've ever seen, - he smiled.

- You keep me on earth, - Mike smiled back, making himself comfortable against Davy's side.

- It's you who does that to me, - Davy said sincerely. – You keep us Monkees together and keep us firmly on the ground.

- Let's say we do that together, - Mike said, rubbing his nose against Davy's shoulder. Davy turned on his side and hugged him.

- Good night, our anchor. You know… this Pad is like a little boat in the raging sea. I hold on to you, and Micky and Peter do… and you keep us normal.

Mike chuckled.

- Normal? Do you even understand what you're saying?

- Perfectly well, - Davy said seriously. – I adore you.

- Me too.

Davy closed his eyes. He was all wrapped in his man, in his warm life, in his soft skin, in his quiet power. He opened his eyes – and saw the strangely harmonic contours of Mike's body. His warm breath caressed his forehead like the breeze – the breeze of some endless ocean kept in the little heart of a simple man. He closed his eyes again and just listened and felt.

'You see, he is nothing special. His Mike – ooh, he is! The one who died and was resurrected by love'… - the echo of Comrade's voice rang in his head.

It was a bad idea, with taking the locket. It was a terrible idea, so stupid, oh! Davy was ready to curse himself. Mike most likely wouldn't even notice…

He breathed his man in. His scent was something that could always make Davy feel that he was home. The sound of him breathing, the feeling of his naked chest, of the fuzzy dark mist on it – oh, his hairy Mike… his unruly dark hair… his dark soft lashes tickling Davy's skin when his man kissed him… those warm lips… it all was so dear. It was those many 'bodily reassurances' that Mike existed, that he was there. That he loved…

Davy sighed and made himself comfortable by his man. The morning would tell. He closed his eyes and let the night embrace them. The night they had before Davy would be gone for another long day. He knew he wouldn't make himself watch them through any of Comrade's machines – it was unbearable.

The thoughts of Comrade Hatred and the Boxes were like the nightmares. He couldn't believe it all had been for real. He couldn't believe that some force could easily take him away from his man and leave them both naked – well, at least more vulnerable… but the force was there, he almost felt it around his jaws when he talked, touching his lips, controlling him, catching every word he said. It was tying him to the Boxes – invisibly but strongly. Now the imaginary chains turned into tiny long threads, thin but strong. And even now, holding his man, feeling him, he couldn't feel completely easy. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't. What was safe and what was dangerous. But he knew that they could easily be separated. And even better he knew that _he _was the one who had to make it all right. Though he seemed to be the weakest…

_Not everything depends on us, little star…_

He sighed.

He had a little hope. But there was at least something…

* * *

He curled up in the strange space – a little ball of power. He was naked in the very heart of millions of strange worlds, his bare feet crossed and his hands pressed to his chest. He didn't want to open his eyes. He calmed his breath down till he could hear the quiet pulsing of the strange worlds. And smiled.

It was a great pleasure – to be free like the wind, like the rivers, like everything. To be able to breathe without anybody controlling him. He smiled. The power was filling him, flowing through his veins, pounding in his temples, pulsing in his blood. Endless power. It was his. He could reach his arms out – and have it in full. But he could use only the littlest part of it. Yet. He wanted, oh, he wanted so to have the power inside him sooner! But his fragile body had to get used to it, and it was slow in that. So he had to wait, stay there, where he didn't want, and where he was in danger. But his freedom was now closer than ever. So he was going to wait. And in fact he didn't want _this _much power. He knew it would kill him. So he didn't try to hold, to possess. He just let it pour through him with his blood, go away and return, and pulse…

The body which was given to him, to his almighty mind, was fragile and strange. He didn't really like its reactions and reflexes. But he had to cope with it if he wanted to live as he planned. He couldn't blame anyone. That body was a product of a chain of coincidences, that's all. But his mind – his almighty mind wasn't.

Being honest to himself, he could say he didn't want to hurt anyone. Actually, that wasn't his goal – to be a parasite of any kind. He only wanted freedom. He wanted fresh air and this power pounding in his temples now. But there were a lot of obstacles on his way to freedom. And he could only thank the guy whose body he wore, because he – David Thomas Jones – came and brought the Idea.

He wanted freedom. That was the only thing that he had in common with the one whose body he wore, as nobody could possibly want slavery. Nobody could enjoy prison. And the Box was indeed a prison, with no time or space, isolated, locked, endless and too small for him.

He wanted freedom. And he broke free. But he had to block poor Davy because even more than free he wanted to be unique. He didn't want to be a copy. He didn't want to wear this fragile flesh – not even entirely human. He needed a good home for his almighty mind. But he had to cope with it until he was strong enough. Until he was used to living the free life. Until he _learned_ to lead that life. Then he will be able to do anything he wished.

He didn't like his name – it was a code, David's name backwards to show that he was nothing but the guy's reflection. But he wasn't. He knew he wasn't. He knew another name, it couldn't be pronounced with a human mouth, the divine sounds of it couldn't be made with a human throat. But he knew it and he wouldn't let anybody steal it. He _could _have it because the power was filling him. And now, at this moment, he was made of power.

He thought of Davy with nothing but casual gratitude. The guy had done everything Divad wanted him to on the scene of the play that he was writing as he lived on. Davy was off the stage now. And Divad – however much he hated that name – he wasn't. He was ready for everything. He was ready to break free from the last tiny threads that were keeping him from freedom.

He smiled with the corners of his lips. He was almighty. He existed longer than anything. His mind was in the beginning, before the Word, before any of the worlds. That was the knowledge that came with the power. He was the mind thinking itself on some faraway star, he was the dreams dreaming about themselves, he was the unknown wisdom that knew itself, so mighty that nobody could know it in full without dying immediately. He was the memories remembering themselves in the emptiness. He was everything. And he was pushed into that fragile body by accident. But he didn't want to go back to the faraway star for the eternal solitude. His mind was tired of emptiness. And that world, that little planet was so pleasantly imperfect and asymmetrical.

He loved it. He wanted it inside himself. Now, in the core of the power, his mind could hold billions of such planets. But this one was unique. It was the only one so imperfect and yet charming in the millions of strange worlds. He wanted it – and he could have it. He just needed a little time until all the power was kept in him. But before he wanted to enjoy it. He could come to possession whenever he wished. But he wanted to quietly enjoy it – because he loved it.

He didn't need the quiet love of Mike. Mike was just necessary until he gained enough power, like a cover, like a shield. When he would gain enough power, Mike could be thrown away without further worries. But he knew that Mike was strong. He had something special about him, Divad didn't know what it was and that scared him. He was afraid of Mike – Mike was the menace to his plans. The cold understanding that came into his mind told him that if Mike suspected anything, Divad should kill him without thinking. But he didn't want to run away from anybody, hiding. So he was going to do his best to ensure that the situation worked only for his own advantage. He was gonna let any coincidences decide for him anymore. Now he was gonna decide for coincidences!

He smiled and stretched himself. The morning was coming and he wanted to enjoy his free life.

He didn't know one thing, because he didn't want to know. He didn't know what the power filling him was…


	7. This will be deleted as soon as

Hey-hey, good people!

First of all, sorry for this 'update', I don't wanna hurt anybody's FEELS, I just wanted to wave at you: hey, people, I'm alive! I haven't abandoned this story, don't worry!

No, I haven't abandoned it. I even got back down to writing it! My muse seems to have returned and while she's still here - I'm writing! Wish me luck, I'm working actively on another chapter. I'm not dead, make sure!

Your faithful.


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